The House of Loki
by KTHunter
Summary: A continuation of Loki's story after "Thor: The Dark World", in which he builds a kingdom of his own
1. Chapter 1

The House of Loki – Chapter 1 - Author's Notes and Introduction at the end of the chapter

_O, my dear ones, what shall I tell you of the Hidden Kingdom, that land of poets, that Last Home for the Lost? What shall I sing to you of its people? Of Ellisif the Silent, Child of the Infinite, whose power was Boundless, whose spirit was Gentle, and whose beauty was Unspoken? Of Magnus with the Skin of Stone, his valiant wife Kolla, and their sons, the Pebbles Three, bravest and heartiest of warriors, who guard the King's right hand? Of the Lawspeaker, the Blind Seer, Ulf the Just? What of the realm's secret treasures and treacheries? What of that great people that conjured such a paradise out of a forgotten land that it became the envy of the Nine Realms? And what, O dear ones, shall I sing of their King, the founder of their city, the giver of their law, the defender of their fields and protector of their little ones, the beloved of Ellisif, he who was once prince and prisoner in Asgard, the Rightful and Good King Loki? What shall I tell you of my home, the Most Peaceful Realm of Eddaheim? _

- _Erik Selvig, _from_ The Chronicles of Eddaheim_

* * *

"Off duty already, Hjalmar? It's just now past mid-day."

The speaker beckoned to the yellowcloak passing between the columns of the open-air tavern. The smell of wood-fire and roasting meat met him as he crossed the threshold. The soldier was tall and willowy and moved with an easy grace.

"Ho, there Gunnar," Hjalmar replied. "Aye, they wanted fresh guards on watch. The All-Father's making the rounds today. The lieutenants wanted everyone looking pretty."

He removed his helmet as he crossed over to Gunnar's table. Gunnar, who was swarthy and broad in the shoulder, was carving rude runes into the rough planks of the table with his knife.

"Again? That's, what, the third time this month?"

"Fourth," Hjalmar said. Still standing, he removed his vambraces and set them on the table next to his helmet. "He'll be going by here, so we should get a good view of him. He's on his way to inspect the memorial to Queen Frigga. It is nearly complete, which means that Asgard's reconstruction is almost finished. "

"Took long enough," Gunnar grunted. He shouted at the tavern keeper across the room. "Agnarr! My boon companion is here! Bring us mead and meat!"

"I blame the elves more than the All-Father," Hjalmar continued as he sat down on the bench across from Gunnar. "The most skilled at that sort of magic died the same day as the Queen. They have had to use actual tools in some instances. Reconstruction has moved along pretty quickly, considering."

The tavern keeper plunked down two mugs between them and shuffled off.

"Speaking of the Queen," Gunnar said, raising his mug high into the air, "Valhalla's the better for having her, and we're the poorer for losing her. To the Queen!"

"Aye," replied Hjalmar. "To Queen Frigga!"

They clinked their mugs together and drank deeply of their contents. Half a moment later, Gunnar spat his out, spraying it onto Hjalmar's face.

"Phaugh! Agnarr! What is this dishwater that you're trying to pass off as mead?"

"You can blame the damned elves for that, too," Agnarr replied as approached them with a platter of cold sliced beef and a wheel of cheese. "Barrels of the best stuff got burned up in their first attack, along with half the realm. The bee hives are recovering, so we have honey, but the latest mead hasn't had time to age yet."

"It is rather foul, indeed! Sleipnir's piss would taste better," Hjalmar said as Gunnar's mead trickled down his face and off his chin. He made a futile swipe of his face with the back of his hand.

"Or that Cloudless Swill from Jotunheim," said Gunnar. "Got any of that in the cellar?"

"Aw, quit yer moanin'." Agnarr flung the platter down upon the table. While it rattled to a stop, he barked, "Jotunheim's not had proper bees in centuries. You know that. Let me see if I have any Foaming Bull left. The Vanaheim barrels are almost dry now." He stalked off, muttering about cranky Einherjar under his breath.

"And a towel, if you don't mind," added Hjalmar.

The normal clamor and scuffle outside the tavern increased, growing louder as they waited for the tavern keeper's return. Gunnar turned on his bench, sitting on the very end so he could see out the open side. Asgardians were gathering on either side of the street and staring with wonder at something approaching them.

"I believe they're coming," said Hjalmar.

As Agnarr emerged from the cellar door, towel in hand, the people pressed back against the building even more to allow an entourage to pass by. He handed the towel to Hjalmar as he passed the table. Hjalmar stood next to him to get a better view as he wiped the mead from his chin.

Great gray Sleipnir, the All-Father's horse, trotted by, majestic, strong, and quite loud with his eight hooves. In his saddle was Odin himself. His face turned slowly from one of the side of the street to the other, fixing each Asgardian with his single eye for just a moment as he passed by. His golden armor gleamed in the bright mid-day light, and a light breeze stirred his cloak so that it floated over his mount's back.

Hjalmar pointed to the small man skulking behind the great horse. He carried a shovel over his shoulder and an enormous sack strapped onto his back. Its contents bounced against his legs as he shuffled along the route.

"I do not envy him his task," Hjalmar said. "I'd rather guard the old dungeons for a year than have a single day of that." He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and added, "Prince Loki's ghost walks there sometimes, you know. My brother's captain's cousin said he knew a guard that's seen him. They've not used the cell since his brother broke him out. All his books are still in there."

"So I've heard." Gunnar snorted and nodded toward the be-shoveled man. "That's one of the Marauders, isn't it? All-Father's getting more creative in his punishments these days. No, I wouldn't be that fellow for all the uru in Nidavellir. Can you imagine mucking out his stall?"

Hjalmar grimaced. "The yellowcloak behind Odin is called Einar," he explained. "We joined the Einherjar at the same time, so I've known him for a while. Decent archer, fair spearman. Told the best bawdy stories. Even guarded the Prince down in the dungeon for a while."

"He ever tell any stories about this ghost?"

"That is the odd thing. After the battle last year, he stopped speaking, stopped drinking. Took a vow of silence, or somesuch. Valhalla knows why. But Einar is always by the King's side, especially when he leaves the palace, which is a lot these days. I don't recall him ever being this close to the people in the streets so often. It's a refreshing change, even if I don't get to hear any more of Einar's tales."

"Well, at least Einar won't be wagging his tongue about the goings-on in the palace, unlike some people I could mention," Gunnar said with a meaningful flick of his eyes at Hjalmar. "I will say that Odin's getting out of the palace more than he used to," said Gunnar. "Used to be pretty hard to see."

"Losing a wife changes a man," Agnarr said in a soft, hoarse voice.

"Who's the fellow beside the king, in front of Einar?" Gunnar asked. "The one that looks like he's left over from Bor's reign? He's so decrepit he can barely stay ahorse."

"Refkell," replied Hjalmar. "He _is_ left over from Bor's reign. He retired from public life when Odin took the throne, I hear, but he was recalled to service when Prince Thor renounced his claim to the throne last year. The Prince has been everywhere but Asgard ever since. I hear he's taken a fancy to some Midguardian lass."

"Wouldn't be the first time _that's_ happened," Agnarr said with a roll of his eyes. "Maybe he'll return when he's gotten her out of his system. It'd be nice to have proper patrons again. What with him gone and the Warriors Three always trotting about the realms on the King's errands, I'm stuck with you lot."

"They're probably on a mission to find better mead," Gunnar grumbled.

Hjalmar shrugged. "Anyway, the King recruited experienced advisors after that, especially for the rebuilding. Refkell answered the call."

"Think he'll remarry?" asked Gunnar.

"Refkell?" asked Hjalmar.

Gunnar punched him in the shoulder. "No, the All-Father, witless."

"Why do you ask?" grunted Agnarr. "Man's got a right to mourn his woman as long as he sees fit."

"The House of Odin _is_ thinning out," Gunnar observed. "The heir renounced his claim to the throne, and the spare died saving the heir. The line of succession is looking a wee bit shaky. A realm is always stronger for having a crown prince in the wings. Not fair to the people, leaving them in uncertainty like this."

Hjalmar nodded. "I agree. The All-Father's not getting any younger, you know."

* * *

"You are not getting any younger, you know," Refkell said. "There are rumblings amongst the nobles that you should remarry, and soon."

Odin nodded with regal slowness at the crowd as the entourage moved through the streets of Asgard. The mountains of rubble that had blocked the way were long gone, and the path was clear for both people and horses. Buds popped from the branches of the newly planted trees. Roses and chrysanthemums would soon bloom in courtyards beside the fountains that were flowing freely again. The air smelled fresh and clean. His people cheered and clapped as his party rode by. He showed them a firm, yet gentle, fatherly expression in return.

He spoke from the side of his mouth so that only Refkell could hear. "That is too private a matter for the marketplace."

Refkell's voice shook, but only with age. He pressed on. "The line of succession is never private, my lord. If you wish for your house to continue the rule of Asgard, you must make preparations. A Crown Prince takes time to birth, let alone groom for the throne."

"It also takes a Queen," Odin replied. "We are not ready-"

"There are many noble families with daughters ready to take on the responsibilities of royalty. I do not think you would have to search very hard for a likely candidate. The Lady Jord is still young enough for childbearing, but old enough to be regal. Amora has the glamour and the power, but she is terribly ambitious. Then there's Sigyn. Not quite as stately, nor as ambitious, as she is a bit younger, but she has a gentle spirit and could learn quickly. I believe that at one time your younger son was quite fond of her-"

"_Later_, Refkell. I would rather complete the memorial to my first queen before I take on a second."

"But as you just saw, your highness, it will be finished quite soon."

The halted in front of the stable gates. Odin dismounted and approached the ancient adviser's horse. Leaning slightly against Gungnir, the spear that was his badge of office, he grasped the bridle gently and rubbed the horse's nose.

Refkell gazed down at him with weary eyes. "Please, your majesty. I speak only in your best interest. The rebuilding of the realm has gone so well. Please do not neglect your own House in the process."

"I know, old friend. I value your advice, as did my father. Very well, I will consider it. Go. Rest now, and we will discuss this tomorrow over some mulled wine."

He watched the adviser ride away to his own house, escorted by two Einherjar. When he was well away, the King turned to Einar, who was standing back and holding the reins of both his own horse and Sleipnir.

"Einar, I am off to the vaults for a bit. Please see that Sleipnir is cared for, then have a meal as well. It was a long morning. I will call for you later."

The silent soldier made a gesture of assent and led the horses away. The king strode away, not bothering to watch as the yellowcloak made his way through the stableyard. He did not have to; Einar could be trusted to perform his tasks above the call of his duty. Einar was the one guard who had bothered to deliver news of Frigga's death to the dungeons the year before. He had delivered it to the man that everyone now recognized as Odin; but that man only wore Odin's face. Underneath the illusion lay the face of the rumored ghost of the younger Prince of the realm.

While it had been hard news, horrible news, the worst of news, Loki was grateful to the guard for telling him. Loki had discovered later that the man had done so without any orders from Odin. Even if Einar did not know he now served the former prisoner, Loki felt he should have some sort of reward for his action, so he had promoted him to a personal bodyguard. The man never argued, and he never stepped beyond his place. He found Einar's presence soothing when he needed company but did not feel like conversing. Einar had not spoken a word since he had taken on the role; even Loki did not know why. But he was one of the few, outside of some specially-trained grooms, that could lead the mighty Sleipnir by the halter. The great steed had plenty of horse sense; if he trusted Einar, then so could the King of Asgard. The soldier was a mystery, but he was a welcome one.

Loki slowed his pace. A year into his reign, it was difficult to continually act the part of an elderly ruler. Even in the heavy armor of the All-Father, he felt that he moved too quickly for an old man at times. No one had yet pierced his disguise, and he had kept those most able to do so far away from him. He had seen no point in harming the Warriors Three, or the Lady Sif, or even Thor, even though he was now in the best position to revenge himself on the ones who had teased him and kept him in shadows all those years.

They were far too useful for that.

At the same time, they might have found some chink in his illusion far more easily than the eager-to-please nobles; they would have caught it not because they knew what Odin would not do, but because they knew what Loki _would_ do. Ever since he had sent Sif and Volstagg off to the Collector with the Aether, he had kept them all busy with various errands and peace-keeping missions; they were banished in fact if not in name.

His could hear the echo of his footsteps as he made his way down the stairs into the vault. The guards saluted and moved aside from the doors quickly and silently. Even before Malekith's brutality, they were used to the All-Father spending time with his treasures. Everyone knew that they needed a little extra magic to bring Asgard back to its accustomed glory.

Thor had not yet seen the work that had been done. The last Loki had seen of him was his retreating back after he had turned down the offer of the throne. Loki had savored that moment like a sip of well-aged wine. Even though the expression had been meant for Odin, the look of awe and filial love on Thor's face just before he left had scratched an ancient itch deep within Loki's heart. It had been easy to let him walk away, then, after Thor had finally _looked_ at him, albeit camouflaged. Loki had been content to rule in peace without the worry of Thor discovering who had really turned down Mjolnir that day.

But contentment was not Loki's lot, and the itch had returned, as itches always do.

But Thor had not.

Loki relaxed his disguise for a moment, allowing his taller, leaner figure to emerge. He studied his reflection in the metal wall and brushed at his long black locks with his fingers. The vault was the only place that he dared show his true face. Even in his chambers, someone might be watching. He always slept with the curtains drawn about the bed, in case the spell slipped while he dreamed. This would be a problem, if he did actually take a wife. He knew kings and queens often had separate chambers, but they did not always sleep apart. He could hide well enough as an isolated bachelor. How could he hide from a wife?

He gazed up at the latest addition to the vault: a statue of Laufey. It was not a memorial to his jotun excuse for a parent; it served as a stand for the Casket of Ancient Winters, which it held between its enormous icy hands. He had molded it from ice himself, and he had kept it frozen using the magic contained in the Casket that it held. But it also served another purpose. It stood upon a high wide block of obsidian, a fitting tombstone to cover a being not quite dead. It was his own private joke: one father of Loki guarding another, and each the other's sworn enemy and under control of their shared - and wrongly rejected - son.

He rested his hand on the block beneath the statue. "Resting well?" he asked as he traced the edge of the dark rock with his finger. "You will find this funny, but I am so glad I spared you, Odin. At the time it was only for Frigga's sake. I could not let you reunite with her in Valhalla too soon. Besides, I have grown to enjoy our little talks. You're the only one I can speak with and be myself. Oh, except for Sleipnir, of course. He remembers me. But he is good at keeping secrets."

Loki sighed as he strode over to another ornate casket across the room. "Even your ravens avoid me. The House of Odin, it seems, is getting rather empty," he said. "The nobles want you to marry again."

He set Gungnir aside and waved one long hand over the chest's intricate lock in a single elegant gesture.

"I should have foreseen it, really. I knew eventually they would find it odd that you were living long past the average five millennia, but I had forgotten their eagerness to gossip about royals. Sometimes the throne feels like its own sort of prison. But it is certainly a good deal better than the dungeon."

He picked up a set of tongs made of dwarf-forged uru, with which he lifted the Tesseract. He turned the cube in the cold light of the vault, watching the blue flame within it writhe and turn in upon itself.

"The people are pleased with the progress we've made. Asgard looks even better now than it did before Malekith's arrival. The talk of Odin's success is all the rage now, and they thank you all the day long. Here you sleep, and you get all the credit for my sweat and sleepless nights." Loki laughed, but the laugh was without mirth. "Now that the aqueducts are functioning again, they are demanding a Crown Prince. To be honest, I'd much rather focus on the House of Loki than the House of Odin. But, I suppose that will come in time. It is almost too bad that you are napping. You might have something sage to say on the matter."

He replaced the cube in the casket and set the locks with another graceful motion of his fingers. "I would pity such a wife, truly," he said as he reached for Gungnir without looking. "She would not know if she were married to you or to me, should you ever-"

He stopped mid-sentence as his hands grasped empty air.

Gungnir was gone.

Sudden pain and a stab of light hurled him to the cold floor of the chamber. Stunned and aching all over, with his ears ringing, he was barely able to turn his head to view his attacker. A young man, garbed in Odin's robes and eyepatch, pointed Gungnir directly at Loki's face. Loki watched, paralyzed for the moment, as the man removed the cover from his eye and tossed it aside, to reveal a whole unpierced orb staring at him, full of fire and vigor.

"Pity yourself, Loki," the man said through a crooked smile.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Dedicated to my friends over at "Free Loki", the petition to Marvel to give Loki a film of his own. They have a cool FaceBook page if you want to check them (and the petition) out.

Hello! Thank you for taking the time to read the first chapter of my new fanfic, "The House of Loki". It is based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe, specifically, _Thor, The Avengers, and Thor: The Dark World_. This is my own answer to what a Loki-centric movie would be like. I have made an effort to keep this movie-canon while introducing new characters and my own answers to the questions that _Thor: The Dark World_ left us with (SPOILER WARNING FOR T:TDW):

- Did Loki really die in Svartalfheim, or was he just playing possum?

- What in the world happened to Odin?

- What happened to Loki between _Thor_ and _The Avengers_? (We still don't know.)

- What kind of ruler did Loki turn out to be?

- What will happen if/when Odin returns and if/when Thor discovers Loki's ploy?

- What's going on with all these Infinity Gems/Stones, anyway? Seems to be a part of a larger story arc in the MCU to me!

- Is Thanos on the hunt for Loki after his failure to deliver the Tesseract?

This story is Loki-centric, rather than Loki-solo. There are a host of new characters that I hope you will like and that I think will fit into the gaps of movie canon just enough that they would make sense in a new movie. We do see some old friends as well from the movies, as there is still some fallout from Loki's past that needs to be dealt with.

I do not entertain hopes that this would ever be used for a movie, but it's fun to imagine it.

Where movie canon has gaps, I have turned to the comic books for inspiration where it made sense to do so. This does not mean the story is comic-canon; it does not include continuity from stories like _Journey Into Mystery_ or _Loki: Agent of Asgard_. I like both; they are simply not included here. (Fans of my Teen Titans fic: please note that my Thor knowledge is nowhere near as strong as my Teen Titans knowledge. I've done the best I can with the few issues of Thor that I have and the research available in the Marvel wikis. Please forgive me if there are a few inaccuracies in canon along the way.) Where the comic books are lacking, I turned to the eddas, in more ways than one, as you will see. I also wanted to imagine what the MCU Loki's story would be like in a more mythical/edda-like format, hence the opening quotes that appear in some of the chapters.

I hope you like Hjalmar and Gunnar. They are sort of my Rosencrantz & Guildenstern for this story. They aren't exactly leading characters, but I thought they would be a good way to get us up to speed in what has happened in Asgard in the year since the attack of the dark elves in _Thor: The Dark World_. They may show up again here and there.

It is rated "M" for "Mature", but mostly because I write for an adult audience and include some adult themes. Some lemony freshness is included, along with some slightly adult language. As for shipping: well, you'll just have to see. I can say the word "shapeshifter" here, and give you the warning that if you really, really, truly deep-down in the cockles of your heart hate Thorki, there might be a few chapters you'll want to skip. I am not a Thorki shipper at heart, but shades of it are present. If you want to know what I mean by that, you'll just have to read it.

If you like it, please let me know. If you don't like it, let me know, too. Constructive criticism is always welcome. If I get something REALLY wrong, I'd like to know so I can fix it if I can. I've done my best to capture Loki's "voice", and I hope to improve my handle on it as the chapters come along. I am not as comfortable with it as I am Raven's voice in Teen Titans, but I'm working on it.

I do not know at this time how often I will be able update, as I am juggling other projects (such as FINALLY planning an end to "Dawn Child") at the same time.


	2. Chapter 2

The House of Loki – Chapter 2

_"Some call me the god of lies. If that is so, then I am a god of more than just my own lies. I am also the god of all the mendacities and fabricated aspirations that Odin fed to me as a sham Princeling of Asgard. He set before me a goblet overflowing with his guile, only to mock me when I swallowed it down. _

_I am the patron god of those who suffer from false dreams, false hopes, and false love given to them by the ones they trust. _

_If I am adept at deceit, it is only because I learned at the feet of its master."_

- _King Loki, The Chronicles of Eddaheim_

* * *

Loki, trembling as the wave of pain washed away his strength, gazed up at his attacker.

Before him was a young god, a strong god, a strange god. He wore the same robes that Odin had worn when Loki had tucked him away in the vault, but he did not wear Odin's face. At least, it was not the timeworn face that he remembered. This man was young, younger than Loki; if this was Odin, it could only be an Odin that had consumed Idunn's entire orchard of golden apples in a single gulp. He didn't look a day over a thousand and ten.

But, Odin, or not, Loki was on the business end of Gungnir. For the moment, that was all he needed to know.

"Once again, you are your own undoing, Son of Laufey," the stranger growled. "We can see you now."

Gathering his wits and what little strength he had left about him, Loki feigned a roll to the left. He cloaked himself with invisibility and rolled to the right and away from the next shower of pain. A chunk of the stone floor burst into a shower of broken pebbles in the spot that he had just vacated.

"I know you're there," the man that could be Odin said. "I know your tricks. I know what Frigga taught you. Her skirts are no longer here for you to cower behind."

He fired again on either side of where his target had vanished from view, but Loki had managed to crawl out of the way and avoid dragging any potentially revealing dust along with him. He kept glancing from his assailant to the statue of Laufey that served as a cover to where Loki had hidden Odin the year before after lulling him into a deep sleep.

The pair drew a strange circle as Loki slipped towards the statue and the stranger walked backwards to the foot of the long staircase that led to the vault's only door.

The initial shock of unexpected violence had hit Loki so hard that he was surprised that his heart still beat. As it slowly wore off, rage welled up in its place. As the peculiar new enemy guarded the single way out of the vault, Loki peered around the back of the statue. The back panel was as shattered as Loki's nerves. The softly padded space beneath was thoroughly unoccupied.

Another bolt from the spear sizzled in the air above him, vaporizing the stone head of Laufey. The neck crumbled away, and fragments of blue rock rained down on the Casket of Ancient Winters in the statue's hands. Loki sidestepped the shower to avoid revealing his outline.

"The queen taught you much, but she didn't teach you everything," the man that must be Odin laughed. "You should be more careful how you store magical treasures, ice-rat. That casket houses more than the power of a thousand winters. For its holder, it contains a thousand springs. You kept it too close to me, runt."

Loki cursed at himself, but silently. In all the records he had devoured in the long lonely nights over the past year, that particular property of the casket had never emerged. It seemed, however, that more than a thousand springs had infused this man.

"But you didn't know, did you? Even with free access to all of my books and scrolls, you didn't know." Odin asked. "Ha. I did not lock down _all_ my knowledge in runes. Some wisdom is for the All-Father alone."

Loki's mind whirled as he only half-listened to Odin's taunts. Retorts raged like a storm in his chest, but a year in the dungeon and a year on the throne had given him a measure of prudence. "Escape" was the only word in his mind as the man continued to gloat. Silence, for now, was his only shield. He needed all his focus to maintain his invisible shroud until he found a path out.

"Only one way out of here, jotun."

Loki bit back a snarl and looked over at the tesseract across from the now-headless effigy. All the humor had been drained out of his private little joke, and in its place was something that almost tasted of regret. Almost.

"You can't stay silent forever, Loki. I know you too well. Speak, you scrap of rubbish. Dazzle me with your ripostes. Lash at me with your whip of a tongue."

Loki noticed that Odin was watching the tesseract as well, almost as if his thoughts were runes in the air that the All-Father could read.

"You know you don't dare use it," he continued, his voice a low purr. "The tesseract will signal the one who searches for you like a beacon across the Sea of Space. Escape is within your reach, so very close, but it would call down fire on your head. It seems you are cursed, after all, boy."

Loki made a dash for the tesseract, and Odin aimed at the sound of his footfalls. The blast missed Loki, but the shockwave was enough to knock him down onto the floor next to the pedestal. Loki raised himself as high off the floor as he could and heaved the tesseract's casket off its pedestal. It crashed down upon his chest, and he roared at the impact. What little focus he had left shattered at the shock, and he became visible once more.

"Yes, yes, I know about The Other and his master. They search for you. You talk too much, Loki," Odin said, stopping a few steps away. "I heard everything you said while I slept. I am tempted to send them your head in a silver basket. And this time, I'll make sure you _stay_ dead."

He aimed the uru spear at Loki's head just as the fallen man summoned the strength to turn the handle on the casket. As the next blast leapt from Gungnir's tip, Loki vanished in a flash of blue flame, with only one name in his mind, the only one his scrambled consciousness could conjure now.

The world re-formed around him as a forest of equine legs and yellowcloak boots. The smell of the air that close to the ground was a miasma of dung, hay, and horse sweat, but it was sweet after the confining air of the vaults. Loki clutched the casket to him and gazed up into the silent eyes of his bodyguard.

It was as if the man, as strong as Volstagg but as lean and blonde as Fandral, had been waiting for him. Einar did not even seem startled as he bundled Loki into his arms, casket and all, and onto the back of a waiting Sleipnir. Before Loki could utter a word, Einar swung up into the pillion saddle in front of him, took up the reins, and urged Sleipnir on toward the stable gates through the milling crowd at a slow walk, as if everything were normal. Loki cradled the casket between them, wrapped his long arms about the rider's waist, and held on as they moved forward.

It took a moment for the always-bustling throng in the stable yard to realize just who was sauntering past them. Faces froze in various stages of recognition, disbelief, and outright horror at the pair; they seemed stunned into inaction at the sight of the peculiar bodyguard and the ghost of a prince riding in broad daylight.

Loki managed to find his voice at last. As they merged onto the street, filled with yet more townspeople, he said between gasps for air, "Einar, loyal Einar, turn and head for the wharf. If you can get us to a skiff, I can get us out- Einar, _where are you going_?"

The mysterious yellowcloak turned the great horse in the opposite direction, down the hill and toward the glowing prism of the bridge that led straight to Heimdall's observatory. Perhaps this guard was not so loyal after all. Too weak to stand on his own, let alone run or use the tesseract again, Loki had no choice but to hold on. His only thought now was to regain enough strength to wrench Einar off Sleipnir and take the reins himself. Given his head, Sleipnir could run across the surface of the water as well as a skiff, if he had the room to build up the speed first. Einar twisted in the saddle enough to wink him, and then he turned and urged the horse to a near-gallop down the tree-lined street that they had passed through not long before, when the people still saw Loki in his guise as the All-Father.

The multitude parted before them yet again, but this time their movement shimmered with a far different kind of excitement. Cries of "Ghost!" and "The dead prince!" pierced the air as they rode past. He caught fleeting glimpses of old faces as they made their way through the stunned crowd; he thought he saw Amora - or perhaps it was Sigyn - peering out from behind a market stand. The rest of the faces were a sea of emotion, washing the street with waves of amazement, wonder, and more than a little fear.

As Sleipnir's speed increased to a full gallop, the folk scattered in front of them. Some, though, seemed frozen with fear and could not get out of the way fast enough. The stretch of market seemed to go on forever. A hopelessly lumbering cart piled to the sky with barrels and baskets barred the way; with all the people pressing to the sides of the streets, there was no path around them. Sleipnir gathered up all eight legs and launched the three of them over it. Of all the horses in Asgard, only he could have powered over such a massive wagon.

He landed at full speed, jarring Loki from his hips to his teeth to the top of his head. He nearly lost his grip on Einar but somehow managed to hold on. He pressed himself into the casket between them, wondering when he would have the focus to use it again and contemplating where in the universe he could possibly go.

Turning gracefully for such an enormous mount, Sleipnir blazed his own meandering trail through the mass with very little direction from his rider. Dodging this way and that around clumps of stunned Asgardians, he carried the pair farther and farther away from the stables but closer to the front of the palace.

* * *

"It's just a rumor, I tell you," Gunnar said. He swallowed another gulp from his mug and wiped his mouth. "People love their ghost stories. I bet your brother's captain's cousin's friend does as well."

"More'n likely he ain't even dead," Agnarr said. "They said he was that time before, when Thor hammered down the Bifrost. Turned out he wasn't. Bet this time is no different. Maybe he found a lassie on Midguard, too."

"No, no, I tell you," Hjalmar replied. "The Town Crier said they found a body on Svartalfheim."

"Phaugh!" Gunnar said. "Everybody knows the Town Crier is unreliable. Fills in the gaps without the facts. No one I know saw a body that came from that place. But let's say they did find a body. Who knows who or what they found? Could'a been Malekith, for all I know."

Agnarr stood up from the worn table and shuffled over to the open wall of the tavern. He peered out as the usual noise of the street rose to a higher pitch.

"Gunnar, Gunnar, you only listen to the Asgardian Herald. Half their tidings are sheer fabrication, and the rest of them are sheer exaggeration." He picked up his own mug. Before taking a swig, he muttered, "The truth is, we'll never really know the truth."

As a streak of gray galloped past the tavern, the blare of the alarm horn rose from the heart of the palace complex. Agnarr grunted at his patrons, who knocked their ales aside in a scramble to retrieve their helmets.

"Maybe you can ask Prince Loki about it. He just rode that-a-way."

* * *

The unlikely trio reached the end of the market quarter and approached the sparkling bridge to the Bifrost. Loki could hear only the pounding of the hoof beats and his own hammering heart and the wind whistling in his ears. Einar urged Sleipnir to run all the faster. The way was clear now, and Loki could feel the muscles of the great gray steed rippling beneath them as he ran faster, and faster yet. Sparks arced from the each of the eight hooves as they struck the unforgiving surface of the causeway.

"Einar! There! Jump us off onto the water!" Loki panted, the words puffing out of him to the rhythm of Sleipnir's charging. "There is still a chance to-"

Einar's helmet swung back and forth in a shake of his silent head. Loki made a grab for the reins but Einar grasped Loki's hands with one of his own and pressed them into his breastplate. The grasp was firm, but as gentle as a parent that was holding the hand of a child. Gripping the thick leather straps in his other hand, the guard leaned forward in the saddle, and Loki hunkered down with him, feeling the weight of the tesseract between them and the rough scratch of the man's cloak against his face.

They were riding full-tilt toward the tall golden gate that guarded the way to the Bifrost itself. Everything was melting into a blur around Loki, and he could barely see through the hair whipping about his face. But one thing was for certain: the gate was closed. Heimdall was watching, now, for certain. Loki could almost sense the watchman's personal guard galloping toward them on the other side of the gate. Loki knew that he was one of the few in Asgard that would not be fooled by a simple ghost story.

"Turn," Loki shrieked into Einar's ear as they fell into the shadow of the gate. "Turn, turn, we cannot stop at this speed before-"

The wind ripped his words away, and even Loki could not hear what he had said. The air about them took on a golden color as near and far melted together into one indistinct blur. For a fraction of an instant, Loki felt the same joyful wavering in the pit of his stomach that he had felt when he and Thor had soared toward the hidden passage to Svartalfheim. It was the joy of a god who had shaken off his chains at last and returned to the land of the sun.

"Turn," he screamed again, but all he could hear nothing but roaring in his ears and feel nothing but the pounding of his heart. "There's no passage-"

The glowing air grew brighter, still brighter, and before Loki could utter another sound, just before they struck the unyielding door, they disappeared into a shimmering ball of light.

* * *

Hjalmar and Gunnar stood at the closest they could come to attention after so much time in their cups. Other yellowcloaks poured in around them as they answered the call of the horn. Its call could not be ignored. It was the alarm that summoned every possible Einherjar, even those off-duty, to the aid of the King. They had not heard such a call since the dark elves had invaded.

Heimdall was down on one knee before a man they did not recognize. The watchman said, "I only saw him for an instant, my King, after I saw you and before he disappeared. Wherever he went, he is concealed from me once more."

"King?" Gunnar whispered to Hjalmar with a slight nod at the strange young man that Heimdall addressed. "I don't see the King."

The stranger scowled. "And what of his companion, this Einar?"

The man held Gungnir, the All-Father's badge of office, with the same confidence that they had always seen in Odin. However, he was far too young to be the sovereign of Asgard. They had rarely seen him up close, but even a child could see that this was not the All-Father.

"The gates were between us, so I could not view him directly," Heimdall replied. "But with my Vision, I saw no one else, my Liege. Except for Sleipnir, Loki was alone."

"Told you there was no ghost," Gunnar muttered.

"Well, if it _was_ Loki, he certainly wasn't alone," Hjalmar muttered back. "Should we say something?"

"Keep your ale-pipe shut," Gunnar warned, "until we know who is who and what is what. We were drinking at the time, remember?"

Gungnir shook as the man's hand trembled with rage. "Where is Thor? Summon him. Summon the Warriors Three, the Lady Sif. Summon the rest of my guard. Find Loki. Track him down and weld the shackles onto him. Slay the one that helped him escape. This is his final treachery."

Hjalmar shrugged and whispered back to Gunnar. "Is Heimdall blind after all these years? Who is _this_ fellow? Where is the King?"

* * *

Author's Notes

I hope you are enjoying the story so far! Yes, strange things are afoot in Asgard.

The Town Crier and the Asgardian Herald: OK, ok, I made this one up. I have no idea how Asgardians get their daily tidings. I thought I could use some indistinct news "agencies" with unspecified means of dissemination until I could figure out how they broadcast such things. I thought the names would fit. Any ideas on how they might do it?

The Mystery of the Younger Odin:

Please see my profile for a link to my reference to this interesting ability of the Casket of Ancient Winters on Comicvine.

Odin was in its close approximately consistently for a year, thus growing younger. this is a potential solution for casting Odin in the next "Thor" movie. It would make the change plausible and part of the story. I love Sir Anthony Hopkins' portrayal of the All-Father, but I also know that he has announced that this was his last foray in the "Thor" series. I felt that this would be a good solution for making the change in actor fit in with the storyline. I don't think it would be good for the Thor-verse for Odin to be dead at this point. There are too many stories to tell. His sudden youth would also be a plot point in the story itself ... Odin's growing madness and how the Casket's proximity would have affected him and how he feels about Loki and his own storehouse of wisdom.


	3. Chapter 3

The House of Loki – Chapter 3

_"One of physics' charms is the discovery of patterns: of how we are all connected, of how outwardly disparate things are hopelessly entangled, and of how the Universe is more alive and beautiful than we can ever know._

_I have described to you two great wonders so far, two of the Infinity Gems that predate the Universe as we know it. There are more stones in this little family, and they are all connected. Together, they have a mind and a will of their own. _

_S.H.I.E.L.D. did not choose me, out of all the scientists at its disposal, for the Tesseract project by sheer coincidence. The Tesseract sought me out. For a while, in ways I still cannot explain, she was a part of me. Even after she returned to Asgard, she did not release me completely. In many ways, I still feel her touch._

_My colleague Jane Foster did not _stumble_ upon a portal to the Aether. The Aether used the power of the emerging Convergence and its connection to the power of the Tesseract to summon her_ _to it. It chose her as a host to accomplish its own enigmatic ends._

_We did not know this at first, of course. We discovered this phenomenon when yet another gem emerged and called upon someone who had already been touched by the other two. At the time, he seemed the most unlikely defender of all. "_

- _Erik Selvig, Personal Memoirs_

"-there," Loki said.

It took Loki a moment to gather his wits after such a race, but a glance around told him that they were well away from the Eternal Realm. It was full night here, except for the white circle of a moon shining down upon them. He could feel Sleipnir slowing himself from gallop to trot to walk. But what he noticed the most was the change in Einar.

The shining helm that had towered above Loki's head as they rode was now poking him in the face. Tall Einar had shrunk by a length of head and shoulders at least. The hands that had held his still were now soft-skinned instead of rough and calloused, and soft curves gave way where there had once been hardened muscles.

"You're not Einar," Loki said as Sleipnir came to a halt at last.

Then he leapt off the back of the horse and seized the reins from the small stranger in one smooth motion. He placed the tesseract casket between his feet to free his other hand. Loki's focus had returned enough for him to conjure a fireball in his palm, which he held aloft like a torch. He blinked in the sudden brightness as he studied his would-be rescuer.

"Who are you?"

She - he had no doubt that this was a she - only shook her head, causing the helmet to rattle around on her suddenly smaller skull. She was like the child of a yellowcloak playing in her father's gear. She seemed to be of a size with Thor's mortal love, albeit a bit stockier than Jane Foster had been. A helpless toothy smile peeked out from beneath the shadows of the helmet as she looked down and realized that her shape had slipped. She removed the golden covering and revealed her face.

Loki's perception rippled with her new appearance; it wasn't often that he could not see through an illusion or a shapeshift. Realizing that Einar was not Einar irritated him. This girl certainly didn't resemble Einar; she couldn't even claim the look of a distant relative. The color of her hair defied description. Loki put it somewhere between dirty straw and withered winter grass, though it did have highlights of red that flashed in the firelight. It floated around her head like a sad cloud, as if it had seen neither comb nor braid in quite some time. Though, to be fair, Loki thought that his own hair must be in similar shape after his long stint in Odin's form. Bad hair was a shapeshifter's hazard.

In the light of his fireball, he could see the hue of her eyes. They were not quite brown and not quite green, but they refused to be hazel all the same. The warrior's tan she had had as Einar had slipped away with the warrior's height. She was pale, but not the alabaster pale of some of Asgard's more famous beauties. It was a simple, washed-out, I've-spent-a-year-in-the-dungeon sort of pale, a sort that Loki was all too familiar with. A small nose, thin lips, and eyebrows that could use some attention framed the rest of her face. She was, except for her height, utterly unremarkable. "Ugly" might have been an improvement, for then at least some feature would merit notice. As it was, she was simply a lump of a girl perched on Sleipnir's back. She could have been anyone's thrall in Vanaheim, for all he could tell, except that a thrall might be better groomed.

It was as if some god had shaped a being out of clay and walked away without finishing the job. All of the parts were there, but none of the polish. She had shown far too much power and skill to be a mortal, but she was far too tiny to be of Asgard.

"Well?" Loki asked. "Explain yourself. Are you from Alfheim? No, no, you're definitely not an elf, and you're far too big to be a pixie. Where is Einar? And where are we?"

A shrug was her only answer to the barrage of questions. The armor hung off her at strange angles. She had been wearing the actual armor instead of making it part of her shapeshift, and now she no longer filled it. She was a turtle in a shell much too large for it. Every move was a tangle of scrapes and clangs.

Loki held the reins more loosely; he perceived no threat here, and there was no one nearby to hear the din of her movements. Sleipnir seemed to trust her. He was in the habit of shedding any rider that met his disapproval. The horse nickered at him; Loki dropped the reins entirely to allow him to graze in the moonlit grass beneath them. There was something familiar about the horse's trust that danced on the edge of Loki's perception. He could not pin it down, but something about her - not her face, but her feel - was achingly familiar. It was like a song he might have heard in his youth, a faintly remembered melody whose words had long faded from his memory.

Loki planted his fist on his hip and pursed his lips. He felt, for the first time, the ill-fitting royal robes that he himself wore. Whoever she was, they agreed on this one point, that it was easier to maintain a shape if one did not have to extend focus to clothing. Or transport themselves to another realm with little notice. He had more pressing issues than his garb at the moment, though, so that would have to wait.

"At least say your name. And the name of this realm."

She pointed to the moon above them. Loki took a closer look at it and recognized it now that the shock of pursuit was fading. There was no mistaking that pattern of light and shadow.

"Midgard? Interesting choice. We're out of immediate danger, so long as we stay away from any cameras. But we cannot stay here for long. I'm sure Fury would love to send me back to Odin one piece at a time. But where do we go from here?" He frowned as he looked at her again. She tilted her head at the mention of the director's name. "Do you know that name? Fury?"

She pointed once again, this time to a collection of lights in the distance.

"No," he replied. "The less we are seen here, the better. I don't feel quite up to illusions just yet. And I'm not going anywhere with you until you say something. What is your story?" He paused, remembering that Einar had never spoken to him, either, after his promotion. "Can you speak?"

She bit her bottom lip as she stuck it out. She pointed at the cluster of lights again.

"I'll take that as a 'no'." He growled to himself, low in his throat. "Still, you have gotten me this far. And I'd rather avoid using the tesseract if I can help it. Is there something specific you need to show me? Then can you take us somewhere... a little more friendly?"

She patted the pillion saddle behind her.

"Very well," he sighed. "At the moment I have nowhere else to go. Let us take our time so I can cast a decent glamour over us. We won't exactly blend in. Especially Sleipnir."

He secured the tesseract casket to the back of the saddle and took notice of the bags attached there. One was a wineskin, heavy and distended; another carried the perfume of golden apples about it.

"You seem to have thought ahead, Lady Nameless. Points in your favor." he said. "But this time, I'm driving."

* * *

"We've already discussed what happens _during_ the Convergence," Erik Selvig said as he pointed to the sketch of Yggdrasil on his board. "Now let's talk about the aftershocks."

The lecture hall was dark behind the lamp that lit the board. Even the moonbeams slipping through the one window to his left could not compete with its brightness, and his audience was lost somewhere in the darkness behind its warm glow. The odor of the markers assaulted his nose as the pen squeaked across the white surface. Its spongy tip bounced as he drew dotted line from the circle marked "Midgard" and another bearing the name of "Svartalfheim".

"During the actual event, the 'veil between the worlds' - so to speak - thins out and allows travel between the realms. Ordinarily, that is not possible without special technology, such as the Bifrost or the tesseract. Most of these passageways are temporary, and they disappear once the realms pass out of alignment. However, with each Convergence, some of these passageways remain open, for reasons we have yet to uncover. Some people are sensitive to these pathways and are even drawn to them. It is possible that one such person or persons may have used this phenomenon, in conjunction with the tesseract herself, to develop the Bifrost in Asgard. The existence of such pathways outside of the Convergence will have an impact on the Foster Theory, which we will discuss in the next class."

"Sometimes the Convergence has other, completely different effects on the Universe. We mentioned the tesseract a moment ago. Sometimes during this event she-"

Erik dropped the pen at the sight of three heads staring at him through the first-floor window: a strangely familiar young woman, a gray horse, and a face that he had never expected to see again.

"Damn it! Not you again!"

"Erik Selvig? You brought me to see him?" the face of Loki asked, looking down at someone that Erik could not see. He seemed startled that Erik could see him, as if some sort of disguise had slipped away at an awkward moment. The lean figure leaned through the window and peered around the large chamber. "To whom are you speaking? And where are you trousers?"

"I think better without them. But never mind that! Thor told me you were dead," Erik groaned. "Why couldn't you stay that way?"

"And I thought you liked me," Loki sniffed as he climbed in through the wide window. "Dead? No. I am a god, after all." He looked about the room, peering into its darkness. "Are your students wearing invisibility cloaks, or is this some form of madness?"

Erik watched as he turned and lifted the woman over the sill and set her down. Erik suddenly forgot to scowl at Loki. There was nothing familiar about her face, but Erik had a fleeting sense of déjà-vu when he looked at her, all the same. The too-big armor that clinked and clanged as she walked wasn't the strangest thing about it. There was something in her demeanor, something in the wideness and brightness of her eyes as she gazed about the room, trying to take it all in, which drew him in like an iron filing to a magnet.

"And who is she? Who have you shanghaied now?" Erik asked as she walked towards him. "Do I know you, miss?"

"Why do you assume _I_ abducted _her_? She brought me here, though how she knew about you is beyond me." Loki asked. "As for who she is? I'm as much in the dark as you are. I do admit there is something of the familiar about her. So far, she has not spoken."

Loki paused, ignoring him for a moment in favor of the sketch of Yggdrasil on the board. He followed the rendering with his finger, disrupting Erik's carefully drawn lines. He picked up one of the markers, uncapped it, and held it out to the stranger.

"But perhaps she can write?"

She stared at the pen in Loki's hand as if she had never seen such a thing before. Approaching with caution, as if it might bite her, she sniffed at it.

"I agree, my dear. It does reek. It's just a quill, of sorts, little one. You write with it." He waved it at her. "Come, write your name. I know it isn't Einar."

"Einar?" For the first time, Erik hoped that the two figures were just another hallucination. He often dreamed of the Asgardian that was standing before him. He vaguely recalled seeing the small woman at some point in his foggy memories. But the horse was new, and he could smell it - a mixture of hay, manure, and sweat - from across the room. The horse, in a way, made it all too real. He kept the conversation going, just in case. "You really don't know her? How did you hook up with her?"

"It's a long story, Erik Selvig."

"Everything's a long story with you. Why are you here? Couldn't drive me crazy enough the first time?"

Loki replied with an amused frown. "You seemed happy enough with your work at the time. Knowledge, truth, all that. Like a child with a new toy."

"Happy? It felt that way. But it also felt like I forgot everything else I was supposed to be doing! I wasn't exactly in the driver's seat _at the time_. I had a god in my head."

"So did I!" Loki barked.

"What? How-"

They both turned at the sound of a marker squeaking against the board.

The woman was not writing. Instead, she had drawn a cube, and she was now shading it with blue. The tip of her tongue peeked out of the side of her mouth as the image took shape. She had already tapped out a series of red dots next to it and a green ellipse below it. Erik felt the seeds of a headache in the back of his head as he watched her work. He noticed that Loki, too, could not seem to examine them without a squint of pain in his eyes.

"Perhaps she cannot write, either," Loki sighed. He glanced back at the dark - and empty, Erik now realized - space beyond the lamp and then back at the board. "You should not know these things, Selvig. It is no wonder you have gone mad."

With a simple gesture, he erased the images from the board, including the woman's drawings. She flared her nostrils and hurled the marker at Loki, who merely shrugged as it bounced off his chest and clattered onto the floor. She stomped back to the window, leaving the scraping sound of metal on metal in her wake, and stroked the horse's nose.

"My work!" Erik yelped. "Look, if I have gone crazy, it's your fault! I didn't ask for it! You put it there!"

A loud neigh startled him out of his rant.

"Sleipnir?" Loki asked. "What is it?"

"Sleipnir?" Erik asked. "Don't tell me that-"

"Peace," Loki said, tilted his head as if listening for something. "People are coming. Did you summon someone, Selvig?"

"This thing probably did," Erik said. Now even he could hear the drone of helicopter blades through the open window. He pointed at the cuff around his ankle. A tiny red light flashed like an angry eye from its edge. "They don't like it when I leave the hospital. Fury keeps me on a short leash these days."

"Hospital? Are you ill?"

"Don't you listen? I went a little crackers after our last team-up, Loki. Even after my performance during the Convergence, they locked me up. Said it was for my own protection."

"Hmph. Sounds familiar," Loki grunted. "Any excuse to get the geniuses out of the way, eh?" Loki asked. He made his way back to the window, and Erik followed him.

Erik continued, "I'm usually low-priority, though. They don't normally find me this quickly, but I am running out of lecture halls to hide in." He pointed to a security camera high in the corner of the room. "Something bumped me up the list."

"So I see. My lady, you've shown me what you had to show me. Now I think it's time we were well away from here. If you please?"

She nodded. Erik watched as she guided Loki's hand to Sleipnir's bridle, then rested one of her own hands on the horse's mane. Before either of the men could say anything else, she grasped Erik's hand in her own, and the lecture hall disappeared from view.

* * *

Author's Notes

- I make great use of the movies' deleted scenes (when I can find them). For this scene, I make use of the "Avengers" scene in which Loki/Hawkeye/Selvig are in the underground complex hatching their plans. They weren't quite puppet-zombies in that scene. Erik showed great happiness and personality and great attachment to the tesseract. This is when Loki said of the tesseract that it "touches everyone differently". I loved how he smiled at Selvig like they were at least close to being equals and sharing an experience. I wish they had left that scene in the movie!

- The "aftershocks" of the Convergence that I list here are not explicit in the movies. For me, it was a logical result. I have often wondered about the origin of Loki's secret pathways, especially the one used in "Thor: The Dark World". It just seems logical that some of the pathways from the prior Convergence cycles would have stuck around, and that Loki would somehow have found them or inherited the knowledge from an (unknown) someone else. That plot point is more logical fallout than anything original OR truly canon. But that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

- The "sentience" of the stones that Erik proposes here: this is something from the history of the Infinity Gems in the comics. I assume that that's where the movies are headed, even if they aren't there yet.

- NOTE for "Agents of SHIELD" fans - I am not including anything from AoS continuity at this time. I have nothing against the show. I simply haven't watched it, as I don't have proper cable or network reception at my house at this time, and I haven't taken the time to watch it on Hulu. I do allow that things may pop up on the show that do not agree with what I'm writing here. However, that is the danger of fanfiction with an ongoing story: eventually something will happen in canon that will disagree with you, no matter how hard you try to stay in continuity. If I'm able to catch some of it later, I may try to weave it in where it makes sense to do so.


	4. Chapter 4

The House of Loki – Chapter 4

"_Whenever magic is involved, one can never be certain of anything._"

- _Refkell of Asgard, Commentaries on the History of the Nine Realms_

Thor took his time on the long walk from Heimdall's observatory to the throne room. His feet knew the way so well that he did not have to think about it. He wished he did not have to think about anything at all. His stony face concealed the churning heart in his chest. He missed Jane already.

"_It would speak only from my heart_."

The words tugged at his brain as he strolled along the prismatic path and tasted the salt air of the waves rolling by on either side. In the distance, he could see the lights of a rebuilt Asgard twinkle in harmony with the emerging stars in the twilight sky. Who had spoken those words? Who had sat on the throne that day? He had thought it was his father. He had carried the warmth of those words with him, the rare and wonderful pride and love in them, through many arduous adventures on Midgard. He wondered now how real that warmth had been. Despite the pounding of his heart, he felt numb. In his absence, he had even missed Loki from time to time. Now, he did not know what to think.

The breeze stirred in his hair, and the small braids behind his ears tickled the skin on his neck. It reminded him of the harsh dust storm on Svartalfheim on that hard, hard day. He had held a dying Loki in his arms. Even with all the enmity between them, even with all those sharp edges honed by years of striving against each other and pushing each other away, that loss had pierced his heart. He had lost half his family in an eyeblink, first his mother, then his brother. It had felt so real, so final. He had watched the color of Loki's face drain away with his life; Thor had heard his last words; Thor had felt his brother's last exhalation against his cheek.

Or so he had thought.

He turned, once, to look back at the Bifrost, its fin-like crest gleaming in the darkening sky. He felt its pull, like a magnet tugging at his armor. Jane was only a Bifrost leap away. _No,_ he thought, _I can only escape duty for so long. Perhaps this is the Elder Gods' punishment for shirking my responsibilities._

He made his way through the tall gate of the bridge, which Heimdall had already opened for him. He stopped for a moment and stared at the high doors. Heimdall's tale of Loki's disappearance through them sounded far too familiar. It reminded him of all those portals he had chased Malekith through, tumbling from realm to realm until -

"Prince Thor!"

He turned to the soft voice and saw two ladies approaching him. One had the highly dressed hair and flowing dress of Asgard's highest nobility, and the other had the shorn hair, shot through with grey, of a thrall.

"Sigyn?"

The noble nodded as she neared him. A small flame - the hallmark of Frigga's teaching - blossomed from her hand and lit her way. Nearly as tall as Thor, she walked with such a practiced grace that her feet seemed to skim the ground, and the fabric of her pale cream cloak whispered as she moved. Her wide eyes were as green as the spring grass of Midgard, and her gold-spun hair floated high in a carefully ordered bundle of plaits and twists; her coif made her seem even taller than she was. Her skin was smooth and milk-white, the very bloom of Asgardian splendor. While they were growing up, Sigyn's beauty had been one of the handful of things that he and Loki had agreed upon.

"My Prince," she said, "I am thankful you are here. My father asked me to escort you the rest of the way. He is most impatient for your arrival. Perhaps you can make some sense of all this."

"Iwaldi? The Regent Apparent-"

"Regent, now," she said. "Nobody else knew what to do. The nobles are in confusion. The throne is empty, and my father will not yield the regency to anyone but you or Odin himself. Thank Valhalla you are here so quickly! You can tell us if this man is truly the All-Father, as he claims." She turned to the thrall, a slightly smaller woman with streaks of gray in her short hair, and said, "Let us go to the palace, Sefa."

Thor fell into step beside Sigyn as they made their way to the palace. The air was still here. The streets were empty, even for the evening. Usually the taverns were doing a brisk trade, but their doors were shut and their windows were dark.

"Did we run out of mead while I was gone?" he asked with a watery laugh.

"Father has declared a curfew for the night," she explained. "Until a King sits on the throne once more."

He studied her face in the light of her magical flame. "The message I received was very confusing," he said. "Are you certain that it was Loki?"

"I saw him with my own eyes just before he disappeared again. I had not seen him in quite some time, even before we all thought him dead. I had wanted to visit him when... when he was in the dungeon, but the guards always turned me away. The All-Father forbade visitors, even the high-ranking nobles. Yet I still know his face well." She leaned her head toward him and whispered, "Despite Heimdall's claim, he was not alone. Someone else held Sleipnir's reins, a yellowcloak, and it sounds like the rider disappeared with him. What does it mean? Could he... could he have been abducted? Instead of just escaping?"

"Like everyone else, I thought he died on Svartalfheim," Thor mused. "But I did not see his body again. When I returned after we had defeated Malekith, the All-Father - or whomever it was - told me that the body had already been recovered." He looked away for a moment so she would not see his face. "I did not ask about any other arrangements. Perhaps I should have paid my respects. To make sure."

He cursed himself silently; he should have known that Odin was giving up his Crown Prince too easily. Had he been so elated to rejoin Jane - so exultant that the All-Father was not going to lay the charge of treason down on him or his companions - that he had not bothered to sit down and think about why? He felt he would drown in should-haves. He longed again for Jane and her mind of science. She could sort this out in short order, he was certain.

"With magic, you can never be completely sure of anything," Sigyn sighed. "There was no funeral, not like for your mother. It made me sad, then, to not say a proper farewell to him. We studied together for many years, you remember, with Queen Frigga. I never understood why there was no ceremony for him. Not until today."

"The All-Father is always surrounded by advisors and guards," Thor said. "Did none of them see something amiss at some point? Some change in him, some harshness, some-"

Sigyn shrugged. "Asgard focused on mourning its dead, healing its living, and rebuilding its homes. Many saw a shift in their roles, but with so much destruction, that was to be expected. They wanted a strong king, a sense of shelter and continuity, and that is what they got. Mostly he kept Refkell and one guard with him. I have little knowledge of kingcraft, but I did not hear many complaints about how things were going as repairs were underway. Bread was in the marketplace, and the transport skiffs ran on schedule. What might have happened when the construction was complete? Who can say? But now we have a young man claiming to be our old King. Normally we would just call him mad, but it is difficult to argue with the one holding mighty Gungnir in his hands."

Thor merely nodded in reply, and they continued in silence until they approached the door to the throne room. The opening soared into the sky, tall enough for the tallest frost giant to pass through if he sought an audience with the All-Father. The ghost of a smile wafted across Thor's face as he recalled his younger brother's wide green eyes drinking in the grandeur of the hall every time they were forced to attend ceremonies there. When he and Loki were children, they had often whispered to each other that the door stretched all the way to Alfheim, and they had dared each other to climb to the roof. Thor missed the little raven-haired boy that had toddled after him while they played Bilgesnipes and Bandits. That was who had seen in Loki's eyes before they had closed for the last time; that was the one who had said, "I'm sorry" over and over, as if the phrase were the only thing tying him to the world of the living. Ever since then, he had imagined that little boy playing on the porch of Valhalla.

_I thought you there with Mother,_ Thor thought. _If you were alive, brother, why did you not tell me?_

Sigyn extinguished the flame with a gentle flourish of her fingers. They passed through a vast forest of carved stone bound with metal, with a ceiling so high it disappeared into the growing darkness. The air was chilly, as it always was; Odin did not want anyone to grow too comfortable in his presence. Sharp voices ricocheted from the columns, the stairs and platforms resting between them, and the granite tiles that lined the floor. The massive throne on its high strong dais was a symbol to any pilgrim in the hall of the ruler of this realm and the marshal of so many others.

_"If I die_," Loki had said as they laid out their plans for Svartalfheim, "_leave me behind. Finish the quest. Avenge her."_

The throne itself was empty, and its horns hovered above the arguing crowd, the tips curling upwards like fists over a giant's head. It was nighttime, and the intricate window that normally poured a halo of light upon the person seated there was dark. Iwaldi, Sigyn's father and unmistakable with his golden regent's chain hung about his shoulders, stood two steps below the seat itself. Another man, broad of shoulder and bearing a more than passing resemblance to Thor in his younger days, claimed space on the same stair with Gungnir clutched in his hands. A cluster of other nobles, soldiers, and guards spilled over the rest of the stairs and flowed into the chamber at the end of the hall like boiling water.

"And he took my horse!" shrieked the stranger. "Iwaldi, we grew up together in the House of Bor! You know me!"

Iwaldi pointed at the trio as they approached the throne. "Thor!" he called. "Come to me, my Prince. We have need of your judgment."

Thor left the ladies behind and strode up the stairs with Mjolnir tight in his grasp. He watched Gungnir flash in the light of the brazier as the man brandished it. He was young, younger than Thor. His back was tall and straight, even without the aid of armor, and he had planted his feet upon the stairs as if he were a great oak that had been growing there for millenia. His blonde hair and beard were wild and unkempt, as if he had been dwelling in a cave without a looking-glass. His eyes - eyes! with no sign of Odin's eyepatch - were sharper and bluer than Odin's had ever been in Thor's memory, and in them he saw no trace of madness... only a rage that was all too familiar. It was the same rage that Odin had poured out on Thor when he had banished him to Midgard after the disastrous raid on Jotunheim.

"You know me, my son!" the man exclaimed. "I am the All-Father! I am _your_ father! Kept prisoner by a traitor since you last saw me. Where have you been? Why are you not King?"

Thor stopped two steps away. "My father sat on the throne when I left Asgard, and he released me without argument. What proof do you have of your claim? Besides your grip on Gungnir?"

Another man, ancient and worn, stepped forward from the throng that covered the floor.

"Regent Iwaldi," he said, "if I may speak with the Prince and the claimant alone, I may be able to provide some assistance. I would confirm things with him that only the All-Father would know. I require privacy for this, naturally."

"Refkell," Iwaldi replied, "If you can clear this up, we would be most grateful." He motioned to the other two men. "Follow Refkell to the antechamber." He lowered his voice and added, "I would not ask the venerable one to ascend the stairs."

Thor and the strange man followed the elderly Refkell into one of the chambers on the hall to the right of the great throne. Thor closed the door behind them.

Refkell leaned on his staff and stared at the stranger, drinking in every detail. He touched the man's wrist for a moment, and when nothing happened, he released him. He hummed to himself for a few minutes. His eyelids drooped shut. Just when Thor thought the old man had nodded off, his eyes opened and pierced the stranger with a sharp expression.

"No illusions here, then. _Humph_. I toured Asgard with Odin this morning," he said. "What was the last matter I discussed with him before we parted ways?"

The stranger balked. "I was not there! Loki ensured that in my Odinsleep I could not hear beyond the vault itself."

Refkell looked at Thor. "I believe that this is not the man I advised this morning, then. The question is, if this man is who he claims to be, then who was the man I advised?" He fixed his gaze back upon the stranger. "I served under King Bor," he said in a voice that sounded stronger than he looked. "I was with him for many centuries. I watched young Odin become a man, and I was there when he took the throne. That was a very long time ago. But you do have his face, even without an illusion. This is not impossible. I am privy to many secrets of the realm, entrusted to me by Bor. There are several artifacts that can return a man to his youth. Idunn's apples have that quality, certainly, but they work in small increments. One would need to consume the entire orchard at a sitting to do that in a single afternoon. I do not think anyone but a mountain giant could accomplish that, and you do not have the look of a giant about you." He coughed for a moment. When he recovered his breath, he continued. "Young sir, is there possibly something in the vault that would work in a similar fashion?"

The man grimaced and tapped the end of Gungnir on the stone floor and filled the chamber with its ringing. When the sound faded into silence, he said, "Heimdall believes me. With his vision and wisdom, you still do not recognize the All-Father?"

"Heimdall is wise," Refkell replied, "but he is not infallible, and there are things even he cannot see. He could not see Loki's companion, yet there are others who saw him clearly. Answer the question."

"Even Thor does not know this, but if it will prove my claim, then I will tell you. The Casket of Ancient Winters. Loki kept it in close proximity to me whilst he kept me in Odinsleep. When I awoke today, I found I had shed my old age and regained my youth."

"Refkell?" Thor asked, his eyes growing so wide that he thought they would fall out of his head.

Refkell chuckled. "Only a very, very few know of that special property. It sounds as if even Loki did not know of it, or he would have separated you from it. The Casket makes its holder grow ever younger. It works slowly, also, but I am certain that the tesseract's presence only amplified its power."

"Loki took the tesseract, as well as Sleipnir," the fellow replied. "We must get them back."

"If Sleipnir were here, he would know you, no matter what face you wore," Refkell said, "I never argue with horses. At the same time, he seemed friendly enough with his rider this morning, and we all know that Sleipnir would never deny Loki. We all know why." The old man sighed. "But, we must work with the evidence before us. You did have access to the vault without the Guardian's complaint, and the guards never saw you enter it. Hmmm. Prince Thor, as far as I am concerned, this man is the All-Father, grown young again. My King, I would kneel, but I am afraid that this old man would never stand again. As it is, I will go out and render my verdict to them. Then I will go get some Refkellsleep of my own."

"Venerable one," Thor called after him. "What advice _did_ you render this morning?"

"I told him to remarry, as we are fresh out of heirs." He turned away from the door and swept them with a final gaze. "That advice still stands, by the way."

Refkell mumbled to himself as he closed the door behind him, leaving the two men alone. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the murmur of the crowd outside in the throne room.

Thor curled his lip in thought. "If you are my father, then tell me this. How long was Frigga in labor with Loki?"

The man chuckled. "Very safe way to ask, my son, in case I truly did not know his secret. She did not bear him. I brought him back from Jotunheim when he was an infant after the battle with Laufey."

"I would still like to know how that was hidden from all of Asgard, but that is a tale for another day," Thor replied, closer to belief now. Even knowing what Asgardian magic could accomplish, he was still a bit wary. He set Mjolnir down on the floor between them. "One last test," he said. "There is only one man besides myself that can lift Mjolnir. I trust its judgment."

The man smiled and picked up Mjolnir with an effortless sweep of his hand. He hefted the handle for a moment before handing it back to the slack-jawed Asgardian prince.

Thor dropped to one knee. "Father! All-Father! My King!" he cried. "Forgive me for not knowing you."

"Stand, my son. Wariness I can forgive," Odin replied. "I taught it to you. Heimdall has his gaze, and you have yours. There is still much for you to answer for, but that can wait until all of Asgard recognizes the rightful King."

"By our own laws, that is for the Regent to say," Thor replied. "But I will give you my support."

"And then we must find Loki and his accomplice," Odin growled. "And there is no Frigga to plead for him this time."

* * *

Sigyn and Sefa met Thor as he left the hall much later, after hours of debate, commands, and orders. As the sky began to lighten with the coming of the day, he could see the young lady's pale beauty was now washed-out and bloodless, and there was a tinge of red in the whites of her eyes. They tried to speak of ordinary things as they walked down the causeway, of Sigyn's betrothal to the noble Theoric, of the memorial to Frigga, of anything but Thor's newest burden. At the high gate to the Bifrost, she stared hard at the great leather sack that he bore on his back. The clanks and clangs of the two sets of rune-inscribed shackles were the only noise besides their footsteps in the pre-dawn quiet.

"Where does the All-Father send you first?" Sigyn asked.

"Back to Midgard. Loki tried to conquer it once, and he has some contacts there. They did not capture all of the mortals that aided him before. And I have a friend or two that might be in peril of him. I have some companions there that might be able to locate him. Of all the worlds, it seemed the place to start."

"I bid you a safe journey," she said. "Please, if you can, let me know if you find him. Perhaps... perhaps I can help." She pointed at the sack on his back. "And be as gentle as you can, for my sake. He was my friend, once."

Thor bid her farewell and watched her walk away. She leaned wearily on the older Sefa's arm. He made his way back across the bridge, still in no great hurry, and with an even heavier heart than before, heavier than the chains that he carried. Twice he had thought his brother dead. Twice he had been wrong, and twice his brother had not returned to him. At least, he had not returned willingly.

_You betray me, and I will kill you_.

Thor's words echoed in his own ears. Loki had fulfilled his promise, even though Thor had promised little more than a chance at vengeance and the rest of his life in a cell. He had even seemed to die to save Thor's life from the pounding fists of Kurse, even after Thor's desperate plan to destroy the Aether had failed. Yet Loki had still found a way to betray him, a way that Thor had not even conceived of in his aggrieved state. He had captured Odin, held him in Odin-sleep, and taken his place as All-Father. He had gotten what he wanted all along, and Thor had simply walked away and let it happen. But in the space of a few hours, it had all unraveled, and Loki had once again disrupted the very fabric of Asgard.

Thor felt the weight of the uru shackles on his back as he settled them on his other shoulder. He hated them, but now he also loved them. They would buffer him from fulfilling that promise he had made when Loki was still a prisoner; at least, it would for a while. Thor had longed to see his brother alive again, and he had wanted to return to Midgard, but not like this.

_When I see him again_, Thor wondered, _who will I see in his eyes? The wide-eyed child? Or the monster that ravaged Manhattan?_

He was so lost in thought that he reached the observatory long before he thought he should have. He hailed Heimdall, and he saw his own worried look mirrored in the watcher's face.

"What troubles you, Heimdall? That he was hidden from you, all this time? Or that you could not see his companion?"

"Both. But there is something more," Heimdall said. He curled his hands around the hilt of his sword and slipped it into the observatory's control panel. "If that _was_ Loki on the throne all this time... he could have executed us as traitors at any time. You, me, the Warriors Three, Sif. As King, there was no one to stay his hand. Ever since his escape, I have asked myself, why do I still have my head?"

* * *

**Author's Notes**

I wanted to introduce Sigyn to the series. So far, she has no existence in the MCU, but she has a very long comic book history, most of which I have not read. I have no proof that she studied with Loki under Frigga, or that she was the daughter of such a high member of nobility, but it would make sense that she would have known him that way. I am certain that royal children would not mix with non-royal Asgardians without a good reason. In the bits I have read, Iwaldi was her father in the comic continuity.

As for the "Regent Apparent": Again, no basis for this other than my own imagination. It would make sense for there to be some sort of back-up regent in case everyone in the royal family were incapacitated for some reason. Putting Sigyn's father in that capacity would only strengthen the possibility that Loki and Sigyn would have spent some time together in their youth.

Refkell is an original character, but I do like the idea of a sassy old advisor that keeps everything in perspective and doesn't let anyone, even Odin, get too big for his britches.

Sefa, Sigyn's servant, is also an original character. You will see her again.

Loki's request to be left behind: Yet again, my imagination filling in the gaps. Otherwise, I would not be able to excuse Thor leaving him on that vast empty field all alone and unburied. The request, combined with Odin-Loki telling Thor that it was taken care of, only seemed logical to me, even though they were not actually in the movie.

The shackles: I hate those things. I despise them. I also think they are made of uru, but I can't be certain. I think uru, as that metal can be imprinted with enchantments, as these manacles are with the runes that (I assume) keep the bound person from using magic.


	5. Chapter 5

The House of Loki – Chapter 5

_"The history of the universe is written in the poetry of bees and the songs of our mothers."_

- _Magnus, Son of Fargrim, Beekeeper & Defender of the Realm of Eddaheim_

"So you've shanghaied me _again_? Or are you trying to hire me? I did not get my Ph.D. in astrophysics to be your personal Doctor Strangelove. "

"Doctor _who_?" Loki asked without looking at Erik. Sleipnir whinnied as Loki inspected the tesseract casket and the saddlebags. He re-secured the bag of golden apples. He nodded in approval at the hunks of cheese and round of bread in the other. Whoever she was, the ersatz-Einar had thought ahead. At least, for a little bit. "We are a bit short on provisions for three. This was her idea, Selvig, not mine. In fact, this whole venture is all her, though I am grateful to be anywhere but Asgard."

"Well, who is she, then?"

"I am still trying to figure that out. I also wonder why she thought we needed you. In the meantime, we have other needs. Water, for one."

Loki looked up at their new surroundings. They had left the night of Midgard behind and arrived in the bright sunlight of a completely different place. Great cliffs towered in the distance, both ahead of and behind them. They had emerged on a rolling hill in a sunny meadow dotted with wildflowers; Loki had urged them into the shade of the edge of a small wood just down the hill. From there he could see the land falling down in a gentle cascade to a wide river below, with more hills and trees climbing out of it and running to another canyon wall on the other side. The water cut a crooked smile out of the landscape as it snaked out of a curve in the canyon to his left, peeped in and out of a view blocked by hillocks, and then curved away again in a haze to his right. He could hear the buzzing of bees and the twitter of birdsong along with the whisper of a breeze winding its way through the vibrant green of the trees that shaded them. He could even hear Sleipnir grazing in the soft grass a few yards away, and he watched the horse out of the corner of his eye to make sure he avoided the many buttercups scattered over the field. The last thing he needed was a sick horse, especially one of Sleipnir's bulk.

He could perceive no villages, no fences, no trails, nor any sign of habitation at all, on what appeared to be rich, fertile, open land with plenty of water. Why no one had yet staked an obvious claim on the land was a mystery.

His reverie ended with the clank-clank of his rescuer removing the last bits of armor and dropping them on the ground. She stood there in the awkward under tunic and leggings, which bunched up on her so much that it made Loki uncomfortable to watch her tug and pull on it. After adjusting his own Odin-esque gear into something more Loki-like, he studied the tiny figure before him.

"Can you transfigure?" he asked her with a sharp edge of irritation in his voice. "I may be stuck with you, but I'm not going anywhere with you dressed like that."

She stuck her tongue out at him, and then she squeezed her eyes shut in concentration. With a ripple of light - blue, Loki noted, instead of the green he had seen with his own magic - the folds of clothing reformed into a rather plain but serviceable pair of leggings, a loose tunic, and a pair of soft boots in the same cream color as the original outfit.

"Apparently, with great power does not come a great sense of style," Loki groused. "With all this sun and your pale skin, you'll want a hood with that." With a wave of his hand, the tunic grew a hood and turned a lovely familiar shade of green with some gold trim around the sleeves.

The tiny woman looked at the result and growled - apparently, she could make _some_ sort of noise - and with a stamp of her foot changed the colors to a very Thor-ish red and blue.

"Oh, no, no, no," Loki said. "Not those colors." He promptly changed them back to green and gold, with black leggings and soft, high boots this time. "There. Much better."

She bared her teeth at him, but before either of them could move, Erik shrieked, "Oh, cut it out, you two! Just leave it at green, Miss, please. All these magic flashes are giving me a headache."

She pulled the hood over her head and marched away down the hill in the direction of the river, staying in the margin of shade.

With an arched eyebrow, Loki looked Selvig up and down, eying the man's rather knobby knees with a pained look. "While we're on the subject-"

"I left my pants back at the lecture hall," Erik replied. "As well as my medications."

"Not to worry, my friend. You do not need your potions anymore. You are not mad," Loki replied. "Be loyal to me, and you will never have to wear trousers again unless you wish it. However, so you won't blind us..." With a wave of his hand, the scientist's shirt melted and stretched until it grew into a flowing robe of the same shade of green that Loki had given their companion, who by now was quite a ways down the hill from them.

"Hmmm," Selvig replied, looking down at his new ensemble. "Not bad, except for the colors."

"They'll grow on you," Loki growled. He called after the woman, "I still need answers." She did not stop. He trudged after her. "Come, Sleipnir," he called, and the horse meandered along behind them at his own pace. Selvig strolled along after them, studiously avoiding the steed's four rear legs as they thumped through a layer of pine needles and leaves from the previous autumn - if this world even had autumn in its seasonal repertoire.

"Speaking of Sleipnir," Erik said. "Is it really true that you -"

"Oh, don't tell me you've read that mythical propaganda. If that Snorri person were still alive, I would kill him. I wonder what Odin promised him to pen those lies. For some reason, Mother saw fit to include them in the stack of books she sent to me in the dungeon. You know, I was just a few centuries old when he wrote that. Still a child, by Asgardian reckoning." He shook his head in wonder. "Honestly, what your people don't know about animal husbandry would fill the Sea of Space! Asgard is a culture of horsecraft! We all took our turns in the stables while we were growing up, even in the royal family. I planned the breeding. I paired the sire and the dam. I assisted in the foaling... all those legs... it was a difficult birth, but worth it. They both survived, I'm proud to say. He's the finest bit of horseflesh in the Nine Realms. Naturally, I did most of the work, and naturally Odin -_ahem_- appropriated him." Loki allowed himself a crooked smile. "But now he's mine again."

"You're enjoying tweaking the All-Father, aren't you?"

The smile grew even more crooked. "It seems Odin planted a lot of stories through those silly eddas, so no one on Midgard would take me seriously. He did that, and other things. I consider the horse partial payment of the wergild he owes me."

"Wergild? You mean blood money?" Erik frowned. "How did I know that?" He shook his head violently. "I can't tell if I'm remembering stories from my childhood or the cosmic stuffing you filled my brain with, anymore."

"It will settle out. Give it time," Loki said. "Yes, blood money. Gold paid to fend off a vengeful family when one of its own was taken out in an untimely fashion. Or in my case, for myself, after being tossed off a bridge like so much garbage!" He shuddered for a moment, pushing away the memories of what had come after that. "It seems that revenge against Odin is a very slippery fish, indeed. He may have his throne back by now, or he will soon enough. But getting _my_ horse back is just the beginning." He looked around at the eight-legged horse, the disheveled Midgardian scientist, and the nameless silent woman that was currently chasing a butterfly through the meadow. A deep sigh escaped him, and he willed himself to calm down. He did not have much, but he had started out with even fewer assets last time. "As soon as I figure out a few things. Like where we are. And if we are safe here." He gestured at the river below them. "I've trekked all over the continent of Asgard and a great deal of Vanaheim in my day," Loki said. "I don't recall seeing a canyon quite like this."

"Reminds me of parts of Switzerland, actually," Erik said. He pointed at the trees in whose shade they walked. "I recognize several species of trees."

"So we may be in Midgard, yet," Loki mused. "It's certainly not Svartalfheim. Too sunny. Not Muspelheim. Too cold. And it is too warm for Jotunheim or Niffleheim." He sniffed the air, and the freshness of it tickled his nose. "And I doubt it is Alfheim."

"What makes you say that?" asked Erik.

"Not enough peppermint."

"I'll have to take your word for it," Erik sighed. He squinted up at the bright, cloudless sky. "You know, that looks exactly like the sun back home. Sky is the same kinds of blue, so Rayleigh scattering seems to be at work here. If we're still here when the sun goes down, I could tell you if we're still on Midgard by the stars. Since I seem to be stuck here with you two, I might as well try to get some work done. At least there's no light pollution here."

"Selvig, I must say that you are better company than some, at any rate," Loki quipped. "You always were. Your skills of observation are sharp; you cannot be so very mad. I would add that we are in a deep valley. Depending on which way the sun moves, the daylight may fade early. I wish this one could talk to us-"

They had finally caught up to their companion, who was ignoring the men in favor of something furry in her hands, something Loki thought might be a young wild rabbit. He was about to bid her to put it down when he realized that this was no rabbit. It was a bee the size of a rabbit.

"Well, that leaves out Midgard," Erik observed as he edged away from the fuzzy insect. "I've got nothing."

The bee flew out of her hand and buzzed around them, bouncing through the air this way and that, as if it were dancing an odd sort of jig. Suddenly, an anguished roar rolled toward them from the direction of the river. Loki had a sudden memory of Banner's monster.

He pursed his lips and said, "I think it would be wiser to go upstream."

The bee buzzed even louder at the sound, and it danced like a dervish. The girl pulled on Loki's sleeve and pointed to the river.

"If I recall my undergrad days correctly," Erik said, "I think the bee is giving us directions."

"Not to anywhere we want to go, I'm sure," Loki replied. "We don't know where we are, and we don't know what's down there. It could be anything, from a bilgesnipe to a-"

"Afraid?"

"Just cautious. We aren't exactly prepared for a skirmish."

A mare appeared where the girl had stood, one with a beautiful chestnut sheen and a simple saddle where her clothes had been. She trotted over to Erik with a toss of her mane and a loud snort.

"Well, why not," the Midgardian said as he climbed into the saddle. "I am a scientist, after all. And if I am crazy, I might as well have fun."

"I advise against that sort of ploy," Loki warned as Sleipnir pranced in the mare's direction with a suggestive neigh. "Trust me."

Sleipnir followed them, stopping only long enough for Loki to regain the saddle. Still reluctant to use the tesseract again, and not having anywhere else to go at the moment, he trailed them down the hill. "I take it back," he shouted after them. "You are _both_ mad!" He swore under his breath. "I believe that mortal is having fun tweaking _me_."

He caught up with them at last at the top of the last hill overlooking a small slough just off the main track of the river. There, moored in the lea of a boulder and safe from the swift current, was a boat. It wasn't a skiff that rode the air like the ones in Asgard; this one sailed in the water. Its single sail was furled high up on the mast, and the mid-deck, which was lower than the deck of the bow and the stern, was covered by a cloth as a makeshift tent.

"What is it?" Erik asked.

"It is a _knarr_, an older form of sailboat. It -"

"No, no, no, I know what a knarr is. Earth had them, too, at one time, just like we had longships. Don't tell me my own culture." He pointed at the large lump of cloth-covered stone sitting in front of the tent. "What is _that_?"

The bee flew ahead of them, down to the knarr, and buzzed around the stone, which suddenly raised an arm and allowed the bee to land on its hand. It danced about for him, and he looked up at the three of them on the hill. He roared at them, and the roar was a definite match for all the bellows that had drawn them here. Sleipnir pranced nervously at the sound.

"Whoa, son, whoa," Loki said to the horse, giving him a comforting scratch between the ears. "_That_, my friend, is what I tried to warn you about. _That_ is a rock troll. Rather small one, actually. A troll with a boat is not something you see every day."

"_Small_?" Erik sputtered. "You call that small?"

"Hold," Loki replied as he held up his hand for silence. It took him a moment, but he soon realized that the sounds were not incomprehensible howls. The troll was screaming for aid. On the boat, it dropped to its knees, as if to plead with them, and the boat rattled and splashed with his weight. Then another, more anguished, howl danced upon the wind, even though the troll's lips did not move.

The chestnut mare whinnied and took off down the hill despite Selvig's protests. Loki urged Sleipnir to follow her down to the narrow gangplank that connected the boat to the shore. He pulled his steed to a halt just shy of his companions. The girl was a girl again, with a trembling scientist huddling next to her. To his credit, the mortal had not run away shrieking. Loki cautiously dismounted as the troll crossed the gangplank to them, stepping carefully as he went, as the board could barely sustain his bulk.

"Follow my lead, Selvig, little one," Loki admonished them as he tightened his grip on Sleipnir's bridle. "Let us see what he is about. In our world, introductions can make or break us."

Loki thought of him as "small", though in truth the brute was as tall as all three of them put together. He was better dressed than most of his kind that Loki had met, with not a glint of armor or knife about him. Loki examined him in a single glance. A sleeveless tunic of crimson encased his granite hide, which glistened here and there with hints of mica and green copper where the tunic allowed it to show. It was not a simple trimmed hide, as most wild trolls wore. This was a highly detailed and lovingly knit shirt graced with raised cables and loops and made from a high-quality dyed wool. Long side-laced leggings of black hide hid his legs, and his great bare feet stuck out beneath them. His enormous toes sank into the soft mud of the shore, and he left deep scars in it as he walked toward them. This, in Loki's estimation, was a troll of some sophistication.

"I am Magnus, son of Fargrim, lately of Alfheim," he said in a deep grinding voice, as if smaller rocks tumbled and polished themselves in his throat in lieu of vocal chords. He turned his head this way and that, drinking them in, with a look of hope crossing the granite of his face. A streak of cinnabar above his left eye twitched as he spoke. "Are you the rulers of this realm? Or do you wear the livery of the king that rules here? We know not where we are, but we are in dire need."

Loki inhaled deeply before answering. He was not just a wealthy troll, but articulate as well. "We are but travelers here as well, Magnus. I am Loki, formerly of... several realms. I am a king, to be sure, but we are...um... a nomadic people at present. You see my House before you. This is Erik Selvig, my court astronomer and chronicler."

"Hey!" Erik barked, but Loki simply glared at him for a moment and kept going.

"And this is... this is... my bodyguard. She is-"

The moans from the boat washed over them again, this time with more strains of anguish in them, and all introductions were shattered in its wake.

Magnus covered his face with his iron-veined hands and howled with her. "My mate, Kolla, is with troll, and her time has come. The infants are... are stuck ... I know not what to do." He pulled an oversized pebble from his face, and Loki saw that it was actually a tear. The troll continued, "We have a companion, an elf, called Tickseed, who went to gather herbs to help Kolla along." He pointed in the direction from which they had just ridden. "She is long overdue. She is... she is... her mind is not well. She may be lost, but I dare not leave Kolla. I fear she will die."

The troll woman's moans increased, whipped up to a wail, and amid the cries, Loki discerned a few words: "Frigga... Lady Frigga ... please help... help me..."

She was praying.

Loki's eyes fluttered shut as he listened to the groans and the thrashing of distress that flowed from the tent. He thought about the water. He mulled over the tiny amount of food in the saddlebags and the piles of crates on the boat that might contain more provisions. He considered their desperate lack of any sort of plan whatsoever. He rejected the cold shudder that threatened to dance across his spine with the thought of who might, even now, be hunting for them. He heard the supplication of pain coming from the tent once more, and he saw Frigga's face as he had seen it last in the dungeons, with a tight smile and tear-rimmed eyes. It all blended and swirled together until he could stand it no longer. He opened his own eyes again and studied Magnus' twisted face.

"She is of the old faith," the troll said. "Can you help us?"

Loki looked at his two fellow travelers, both of whom - even the one who seemed to have magical power steaming out of her ears - looked helpless in the face of a laboring troll. Here, at least, was something definite that needed doing; here, at least, was something he knew how to handle.

"I will," Loki said with a tinge of steel in his voice. He turned to the girl and handed her his reins. "You, take Sleipnir and search for their companion. Tickseed, was it?"

The troll nodded. "Red of hair and green of eyes," he added. "Tickseed Sunflower, one of the Elves of the Vale. She was on foot, so perhaps she has not gone too far."

"Magnus, one of your bees found us," continued Loki. "Can one go with her, so that your friend will know the girl comes from you? She cannot speak."

As Magnus crossed the gangplank once more and made his way back to the hive on the stern, Loki pointed back to the forest they had passed on the way down. He said to his silent cohort, "The fields are pretty open, and we did not see her on the way. But there is a stand of woods where she might have gotten lost over there. Stay with Sleipnir. He can always find me. Selvig, come with me."

"Why me?" Erik groaned as he pointed at the strange waif, who was even now riding away from them. "Why not her?"

Loki poked him in the shoulder and herded him across the gangplank. "Because I think she can handle Sleipnir. And she's not afraid of magical creatures, and it seems there are plenty here. Besides, aren't you a scientist?"

"Damn it, Loki, I'm an astrophysicist, not a doctor!"

"But don't they call you _Doctor_ Selvig?"

"I'm not that kind of doctor! And neither are you! What do you think you're doing?"

"Answering a prayer," Loki replied.

He grasped the scientist by the wrist and pulled him across the deck and into the tent, which was filled with an enormous flat stone cot covered with a thin blanket. On it, with her granite skin streaked with obsidian and rich green olivine and glistening with sweat, writhed another troll. The blanket was torn in several places from the strength of her grip upon it. She was still uttering her prayer through gritted craggy teeth as Loki knelt in the small space beside the bed.

"Kolla, Kolla," he said gently, taking her clamped fist into his hands, "I am Loki, the son of Frigga."

Relief spilled across the troll-woman's face. Loki brushed a sweat-sodden lock of hair from her moss-pocked forehead. "She sent you," she whispered through her clenched mouth. Pebbly tears rolled down her black-flecked cheeks, and her voice creaked, as if it were worn and frayed from her screams. "Mother Frigga sent you to me, didn't she?"

"I can help," he cooed. "The Lady Frigga watches over all those giving birth. She taught me her magic. And I know the All-Father's charms for healing. Do not fear, sweet Kolla. All will be well."

Loki rested a hand on Kolla's swollen belly, which rumbled and groaned with the movement inside; it sounded like an avalanche were about to burst forth. He closed his eyes once more, calling on one of the charms he had just mentioned so that he could see within. "There are three little ones within you, Kolla," he said, adding an extra charm of calm to his voice. "They are just a little tangled up. Fear not, for I have done this before." He looked up at Erik and Magnus, who had just entered the tent and was twisting his hands in sympathy pain. "Selvig, Magnus, here is what we need to do."

* * *

Loki and Erik emerged onto the deck, their faces drawn out with bleary, vacant stares. They both took deep, cleansing breaths of the cool evening air. Loki, stripped down to his undertunic and trousers, felt rather rumpled in the aftermath of trollbirth. His other layers of leather and metal littered the interior of the tent, each removed as another child had been born. Erik's sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, and his hair - slightly grayer now - stood up on end as Magnus bellowed again with great joy.

Erik brushed at a layer of dust on Loki's shirt. Loki was so numb and tired that he did not even protest the touch. This was certainly not the way he had expected this rather busy day to end. If Refkell had predicted this before they had parted that day, he would have called it madness.

"What in the world is this all over you?" Erik asked.

Loki grunted and rolled his chin down to his chest to see. "Granite dust, I think. I hope."

Erik laughed, and the sound was deep and hearty. "So, now we have three little Pebbles? Well, congratulations. That was something else. That was _really_ something else, Loki." He laughed again. "Troll babies. Who would've thought they'd be so damn cute? Wish I had some cigars."

"I'd rather have mead, if there is any." Loki looked down at the dust that covered his tunic and let out a sigh of exhaustion. "That was thirsty work, indeed. I could really use Stark's drink right about now. I never did get it." He sighed again, more deeply this time, as the feeling of life, new life, coming into the world through his hands soaked into him. He was tired, so tired, but for once a good sort of tired. Selvig was right; infant trolls were an irresistible sight, even to a god such as he was. "I rarely indulge, but in this case, make it a double."

Magnus rushed out of the tent door and exclaimed, "Oh, my Lord Loki! Son of Frigga! Prince of Asgard! Forgive me for not knowing you. In Alfheim, we had heard you had perished during the Converging of Worlds. It delights me to see the reports were wrong and that you have a House of your own. Never have I known a king who cared so much for his people. My beloved Kolla and my little ones live because of you. My house has grown due to your generosity. Surely only the greatest of kings would deliver his people with his own hands." The giant dropped to one knee and bowed his head low. Loki stumbled and nearly lost his footing as the boat rocked with the force of it. "If you will have me, I pledge my loyalty to you, King Loki, for you have given this poor troll what he needs."

Truth danced on the edges of Loki's perception. The troll's speech had no stain of guile or mockery about it. The heartfelt and willing submission slammed Loki in the chest; the stone man may as well have punched him. The taste of someone kneeling to him in fear in Midgard had been sweet, but the flavor was nothing so rich as this. He rested his palms on the troll's shoulders for a moment, then stepped back and savored the awe that permeated the deck.

"Rise, Magnus, son of Fargrim," Loki said, injecting an extra bit of energy into what was left of his dignity so he could think of something to say with a ceremonial flavor. He shook a little, though from exhaustion or amazement , he could not say. One did not take the loyalty of a troll lightly. "Your children are healthy and handsome," he said. He waited a moment for another vigorous chorus of cries to abate. "And have strong lungs. Your wife is fierce and filled with faith. You have a stout and generous heart. You are a worthy man, indeed! I will have you in my house."

Magnus rose, slowly, with poise not often seen in one of his size, and grasped Loki's hands between his own. He bowed his head at Erik. "And my thanks to you, Selvig of the House of Loki. I have mead, my lord, for both of you. It is the treasure of my family, and worthy, I hope, of a king's table. My dear Kolla brews it herself from the hive we carry with us."

Amid the cries and gurgles of the infants, Loki could hear the buzzing of the hive on the other side of the tent. The bees were settling down for the night.

"The mead is the treasure of my family, my lord," Magnus continued. "As for the bees, we...ahem... _liberated_ them from Alfheim."

"Tell me the tale, then, Magnus." Loki attempted to sit on one of the crates and missed, sliding down the side of it instead. He ended up in an exhausted pile of bones on the deck. Rearranging himself with as much dignity as he could summon, he craned his neck to look up at the troll and said, "I love a good story."

"We were but a poor couple of trolls, scratching out a life in Alfheim where we could, wandering here and there as our legs could bear us."

"Why were you not with your own people?"

"I made the mistake of learning how to read."

"Ah, not a popular skill amongst trolls, I've heard."

"Aye, m'Lord. But I would not give it up, not for all the treasure in Yggdrasil. Also, Kolla is of the old faith. You saw how she believes in Mother Frigga. Most of those beliefs have faded out among our people, and her prayers lonely ones. So we each had our reasons to seek a more nomadic life. The elves were not overly fond of us, either, but we lived in relative peace with them. We traveled through the Vale one day, near the lands of the unicorn herders, where we met our companion. Tickseed Sunflower had wandered away - as she is wont to do - from her people while she was gathering herbs for dying wool. She is... she has an illness of the mind, we think. She cannot use her own magic."

"Tickseed. A rather unfortunate name. And an elf that cannot use magic?" Loki asked, rubbing the back of his aching neck. "I have never heard of such."

"Oh, she tried once or twice for us, so we could see. It was horrible. She sneezed unendingly, and she swelled like a mossy pufferfish-"

"Allergies?" Erik interjected as he carefully settled himself on the deck a few paces away from Loki. "You mean, she's allergic to her own magic?"

"If that is the word," Magnus said. "We did not know that name of her condition. We only knew that she was lost, and ill, and she could barely remember her name. She talked in strange words. When we did find her people, they did not want her back. They did not understand her problem, either, and did nothing for her except give her an unlucky name. But we could not just leave her, as helpless as she was. Besides, she knew about simples and poultices, which are but herblore for elves, not magic. And fibercraft! She made this for me." He pointed to his tunic. "She can weave and work the finest cloth you have seen! She has great skill, when her mind is working well. So we took her in with us as part of our House. Soon after, still in the Vale, we came upon the great orchards, and the many hives of bees. Upon a cold rock, the keepers had left a princess out of the hive to die." He paused for a moment, wiping a pebbly tear from the corner of his eye. "She was the runt, you see, and they did not want to waste royal jelly on her. They thought she would die anyway. But she had already mated and was heavy with eggs. She turned out to be a very special queen, indeed. And her children create the best honey in all the Nine Realms. She shared it with us, in return for our protection. Our wealth grew. We were rich travelers, no longer just homeless wanderers. We acquired the boat, among other things." Then, he cleared his throat for a long moment, as if debating whether to continue. He plowed on. "Unfortunately, word of the mead spread a little too well, if you take my meaning. The original keepers demanded the return of the hive and the Queen. Naturally, we - and the Queen - disagreed and decided to take our business... elsewhere. We were fleeing a group of them when we happened upon a portal between the worlds. We passed through it a few days ago. 'Twas in the middle of the river, so our hunters could not find it, nor could they follow. We were safe, here in this new place, but we were far from help when Kolla's time came."

"And this is the reason you are pursued? Because their trash turned out to be treasure after all?"

"Yes, my liege."

Loki's ears prickled with heat as he turned the story over in his mind. Small pains lanced the back of his eyes as Magnus talked about the Queen and the rock upon which she had nearly died. It brought to mind Odin's words about finding a similar tiny creature on a similar rock in another realm, another time. He stuffed the memory back into the darker corners of his mind, but at the same time he reminded himself that it was not just Odin that owed him wergild. Laufey had paid, yes, paid with his life, but it had been over too quickly to settle the bill. Loki felt he would never be truly satisfied on that account, but tweaking someone else's similar ploy might lower the debt a bit. Just a bit.

He drew himself up and arranged his face in as noble a fashion as he could muster from his seat upon the deck. "Well, as long as we're clear. I can respect that, as long as you don't liberate anything of mine. Not that there's much to liberate at the moment. The hive is welcome, then, in our little realm, as are you and your family. The bees should have blossoms aplenty soon enough. We have an opening for a beekeeper, as it so happens. Are you up for the job?"

"Yes, my lord!" the giant shouted with relief. "I would be pleased to do so. I shall be Magnus of… of… what do you call your people, my king?"

"We're still working on that. For now, you are of the House of Loki."

Magnus chuckled as he said, "Very well. And a great House it is. We shall be small, but we shall be agile." He nodded and disappeared behind the tent for a moment. When he reappeared, he handed each of them a heavily carved drinking horn overflowing with sweet-scented drink.

"I have spoken with the Queen," said Magnus. "The bee you sent with the girl has returned. I am happy to say, Tickseed has been found. They are safe, and they should return soon."

"The Queen said that?" Erik asked. "The bees... talk?"

"After a fashion," Magnus replied gently, as if explaining to a child. "They are good, strong Alfheim bees. They wax rather poetic at times, so one must listen carefully. Their language is more flowery than the bees of Nidavellir, and their accent is thicker than the one of the bees of Vanaheim."

"Ah," replied Erik. "I see."

The troll bowed slightly before ducking back into the tent, leaving the two men alone on the deck. They stared at each other for a moment, without drinking, not knowing what to say without the mitigating presence of either their silent companion or the rock trolls.

"To troll babies," Erik said, raising the horn in a toast.

Loki nodded wearily without words and tapped the rim of Erik's outstretched horn with his own. They took a silent sip of his own mead.

"I wonder where what's-her-name is right now, even if she is on her way," Erik said at last, breaking the tense quiet between them. "I thought she might have come back by sunset, elf or no elf."

"We cannot keep calling her 'what's-her-name'," Loki replied before taking a sip of his own. "She was 'Einar' when I met her, but I'm not about to call her that."

"What is the story, anyway?" Erik asked. "How did you two hook up? And where were you when everyone thought you were dead?"

"I just delivered three infant trolls, Selvig," Loki said before gulping down another mouthful to wash down that particular memory. "Later."

"I think I have a right to know, seeing as you spent so much time in my head. Honestly, I was relieved when I heard-"

"I'm feeling a bit _out_ of my head at the moment," Loki observed as he noticed the new gleam in the Midgardian's eyes. He peered into the horn and frowned. "I think this would put hairs on _Thor's_ chest. Are you certain mortals should be drinking this?"

"Hey, I can drink anything you can, Mischief Man. I had a few rounds with your brother the first time he came to Earth. Boilermakers. The man can hold his booze. Better than you can."

Loki grunted and took another pull of the drink. "That much is true. I don't indulge often. Magic and mead can be… an explosive combination."

"Oh, right. Gotta think clearly so you can go 'round possessing people." Erik chugged down half the horn and belched so loud that his lips rippled.

"Oh, do shut up about that, Selvig. If I hadn't 'been in your head', as you so eloquently put it, you wouldn't be here now."

"I don't _want_ to be here now."

"Silly mortal, you know what I mean," Loki said. He surrendered his elegant sipping and imbibed a deep draught before he continued. He could feel the philosophy rising in his blood, along with the sudden warmth spreading across his chest. "Here. Alive. All that work you said you did with the … what did you call them?" Loki rubbed his temple with his free hand. "Oh, it hurts to think now. _Spikes_. How did you even know about the convergence? The aether? All that… stuff. Where do you think the knowledge came from? You didn't read about that in any of your puny halls of learning."

"You mean… you mean to tell me… that we saved the universe… because you rented space in my head for a while… you mean that I knew what you knew. And I made the things… because… because of you."

"Yes. It's… it's… what you said." Loki's words blurred into one another. "And—and you didn't seem to mind so much at the time. Tess-tesseract showed you… stuff… too… your little mortal mind… just needed time… time to sort it all out." He hiccupped. "Nice to know my little venture on Midgard was useful, after all. Not that anyone cares about that part. No, no, they're happier thinking it's all my fault. I'm a convenient scapegoat. Earthquake? Blame it on Loki. Famine? Sure, that's me. They probably blame me for Malekith's first invasion, too. And I wasn't even born yet! They'll likely blame me for Ragnarok, too, whenever it comes."

"Pbbbbbbbbt. You fried my brain. I ran through Stonehenge."

"So?"

"Naked. On television."

"Isn't nudity required for that?" Loki snorted and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Oh, Selvig, my friend, that is nothing, nothing. You should see Volstagg after his third keg of ale sometime." Loki shook his head violently, then stopped when the world started to spin. "On second thought, don't. Some things cannot be unseen." He tapped his chest with the side of his fist and belched, and the sound echoed across the water. "But you got better."

"I suppose," Erik furrowed his brow for a moment. "Say, whatever happened with whats-her-name… Sig…Sigga…"

"Sigyn?" Loki hiccupped. "Please don't tell me you know about that, too. That was..." He drifted off for a moment and began counting on his fingers. He shook his head and started again. After the third try he waved his hand in exasperation and took another drink. "That was a long, long, long time ago."

"Mostly I remember facts. Book-y things. Don't unnerstand most of it. But most of the personal stuff is kinda… fuzzy. Like, I didn't really know 'bout the horse thing, not for sure. But then again, everything's kinda fuzzy right now. Old girlfriend?"

"No, not if I unner-understand what you mean by 'firlgrend'. She did kiss me, once, though. Hunh. A pretty girl kissed me. That was… that was nice. We shtudied magic together, you know. Frigga—Frigga taught us both for a while." At that, he downed the rest of the mead, with some of it spilling down his chin. He set the empty horn across his lap and sobbed. "Oh... Mother..."

Erik reached out and patted his shoulder after missing it three times. "Hey. Hey, man. I heard about your mother. Thor told me. Sorry, so, so sorry, big guy." He kept patting Loki's shoulder. "Bad way to go. Tough break."

"I didn't even get to see her funeral ship," Loki cried. The horn rolled out of his lap and onto the deck as he buried his face in his hands and moaned. "They didn't even tell me until it was all – _hic_ - over. And a guard – _hic_ – told me. A guard!"

Erik felt the air around Loki's back for a moment and finally landed his hand on the other shoulder and gave him a man-hug that would have put a drunken Volstagg to shame. "My mother died of a heart attack a few years ago. Worst phone call of my life." He pounded his fist in the general direction of his chest. "Gets a man right here, doesn't it? Here, Loki, let's have one more round."

Somehow, Erik managed to stumble to the barrel and refill the horns without getting stung by the bees. He lost half the mead on his way back. He pressed the horn into Loki's nearly limp hand.

"A toast!" Erik roared as he raised his own drink to the sky. "To Mothers. To troll babies. And to old flames."

"To Frigga," Loki murmured before he gulped another mouthful of the golden liquid. "The best mother in Asgard. And to your mother, Erik Selvig. What was her name?"

"Ellisif."

"To Ellisif, mother of my dear friend Selvig." Loki swigged again. He gave Erik a thoughtful look as he swallowed the honey-wine and enjoyed the fresh wave of fog in his brain. "A goodly name. A queenly name. You know, our little friend that brought us here needs a name. I refuse to call her 'Einar'. Do you mind-"

"Why is her name so important?"

"Names. Powerrrrrrrful magic in a name. You'll see, when our friends down below," he said as he pointed to the glowing light spilling from the tent, "name their little ones. Besides, I am of Asgard. Or, I used t'be. We name our houses. We name our weapons. We name the damn silverware. She may not be pretty, but the lady still deserves a name. Everybody should have a name. Your mother's name is nice."

"What if she doesn't like it?"

"She'll like it. It's a damn sight better than 'what's-her-name'. Ellisif it is, then. Now, Odin has his Sif, and I have mine. Sort of. I should tell her the good news. Whenever she gets back. And as soon as I am sober enough to stand. Mebbe then we'll get some answers from her."

"Thish place needs a name, too," Erik added.

"Figure that out tomorrow. I'm all named out." Loki crawled to the gunwale and leaned dangerously far over the edge of the boat and flung remainder of the liquid out onto the water. "Just a libation for the dead. Not to worry." He pulled himself back up and wiped his mouth upon his wrist. He crawled back to the crate and took a moment to let the boat stop spinning. "Didn't get to do that then, either."

He was answered by a sudden weight on his shoulder and a shuddering snore. Loki rolled his head over in that direction and found Selvig's head resting there.

Normally he would not have tolerated such boldness. But he was too tired to move, and the mortal had just helped him with what even Loki had to admit was an arduous and more than slightly disturbing task. He had no wish to wake him. Loki rolled his eyes up and looked at the stars winking down at them, and he drew a little comfort from the sight. They were gods, after all, at least Frigga and her son, Loki. In the warm haze of mead, he realized that Odin was wrong, had to be wrong. Someone still believed in them, even if it was only a rock troll.

He grunted softly and whispered to the stars, "Good night, Mother. I hope I made you proud."

He felt a soft, warm breeze caress his cheek as the sound of joyful newborns burbled across the deck. The buzzing of the bees, ever fainter in the deepening darkness, sang to him like one of Frigga's lullabies. Or perhaps it was Kolla singing to her newborns; he could no longer tell the difference. It wasn't long before Loki, too, slipped into a soft, deep sleep, with his other cheek resting against the top of Erik's shock of hair.

It was the best sleep he had had in centuries.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

And thus the House of Loki grows by leaps and bounds, and our silent friend finally gets a name. But where did she come from? And where are they? It may seem a bit left field at the moment, but please hold on. If you know a little bit if comic book history, especially of the Infinity gems, you may have an inkling.

This one got a bit silly, I know, but I had fun writing it. I adore Erik Selvig. Loki's subcontext is a blast to write as well. He has such an interesting... perspective.

I kind of loaded this one with a few references ... I am finishing this up at 3 A.M., so if anything seems really out of whack, I promise I'll fix it, please forgive me. I'm not drunk, just the victim of insomnia. This is probably the longest chapter I've written in my ENTIRE LIFE.

The depictions of Alfheim are based on what I've seen in the current "Thor: God of Thunder" comic title, especially in the arc where Thor wanders about with the League of Worlds. We haven't seen it in the MCU yet, but it would be a hoot to see all those fairies and candy flowers on the screen.

Magnus - one of my all-time favorite original characters. The name is my tribute to the longsuffering Magnus Martinsson, one of the detectives on the BBC version of "Wallander", who is played by our dear Mr. Hiddleston. Plus, I just love the name.


	6. Chapter 6

The House of Loki – Chapter 6

_"Dragons are indeed of temperament sweet! _

_Observe-"_

- _From the last poem of Unnarr the Unlucky, as recorded in "An Exploration of Troll Poetry", edited by Magnus Fargrimsson_

The swaying of the deck nudged Loki from his sleep. It took him a moment to realize that he was no longer sprawled next to the crates but cradled in a hammock beneath a sky spread thick with stars. Even in Asgard he had never seen so many; it was as if Ymir's saltcellar had spilled across the heavens, flinging glimmers of white - and the occasional spot of red or orange - over every visible patch of firmament above the canyon.

He was amazed to find that his mind was as clear as that sky now, even though the events of the night before were lost in a honey-wine haze. He craned his neck above the folds of the hammock and peered around the deck. Across the way, Selvig was similarly ensconced as a rounded lump in a sling of striped canvas. Loki smiled at the thought of Magnus scooping the mortal up in his arms and depositing him in the hammock like a child in a cradle.

In between the mortal's snores, he could hear the steady, heavy breath of something below him. Stretched across the deck was, of all things, a tiger, with its striped back to him. He could not remember bringing a tiger aboard - surely, they had not drunk _that_ much mead, that was more Thor's style - when he spied the tunic and boots piled up not far from its whiskered head. He noted the lack of any other resting place on the deck.

"Resourceful," he muttered.

He had not spoken above a whisper, but it had been enough to twitch the girl's tiger-ears. Instead of waking, though, her body quivered in an enormous hiccup and shook off the befurred form. She grew quiet again, and curled up into a shivering, bare-skinned ball. Loki felt a flutter of consternation; how could a being have such powers but not be able to maintain them properly? The sight before him was no more alluring to him than that of a hairless cat, and he no desire to continue gazing upon it. Thus was his great protector.

"Why do I always get the broken ones?" he asked no one in particular.

He plucked at the blanket that someone - probably Magnus - had draped over him. With as few creaks of the ropes and deck planks as he could manage, Loki slipped out of the hammock and tiptoed the few steps to her sleeping form. Something caught his eye as he draped the cover over her. He knelt by her back and flicked a small flame into being on the tips of his fingers to get a closer look.

A white scar snaked its way across her back, hopping back and forth over her spine like a twisted vine that extended some tendrils up over her shoulder blades and others down into the small hollow between her hips. As he moved his small light, the blemish writhed in and out of the shadows like a ferocious tattoo brought to life, now a tree, now a serpent, now a tongue of lightning flicking white heat across her skin. The mark was old, and the skin around it was tight, as if Muspelheim had caressed her and left claw-marks in its wake.

He rifled through his memory of the last year, of everything that the man he had called Einar had done. He could recall no adventure that would have resulted in such a wound. In fact, that stretch of time had been rather tame from the perspective of a bodyguard. The hard ridges of skin were too old to be a consequence of her rescue of Magnus' wayward elf. She had had some trauma, then, before she had come to Asgard. She had fought something, or suffered something, and survived it. She had never complained of pain, not even a wince to betray the map pricked out in her flesh. Something in his perception jangled in alarm, as if he should already know the cause. Curiosity had flickered in his mind since they had escaped Odin; now it burned within him. There was far more to this strange child than shapeshifting.

Loki extinguished his light by curling his lit fingers into a fist. Instead of merely draping her with the blanket, he wrapped her up in it. Moving slowly, carefully, he stood up with the little bundle and settled her into his abandoned berth. He had no sleep left in him, anyway.

The sky was a shade less dark now, and he could feel the sun - whosever sun it was - sliding its way towards dawn. Sleipnir whickered from somewhere near the stern. Loki took his time making his way back to the horse. He enjoyed the smooth feel of the teak on the soles of his bare feet, and he timed his steps with the ever-present groans and squeaks found on all sailing vessels, no matter the realm. He stopped short of the back of the tents. A ghostly figure was already there, stroking the steed's nose with gnarled and spotted hands and muttering to herself in some ancient tongue. Her iron-gray hair floated about her head in all directions, and her head hunched towards the horse like a gnarled knob on a time-worn oak. Loki crept closer to see the slightly wilted points upon her ears and the lines worn deep into her face, looking more like a figure carved from wood than from flesh.

"Tickseed?" he called softly.

The elf ignored him, still muttering to herself, though he could catch a word here and there of some antique ballad. She was so pale that, had she not been so wrinkled and bent, he would have sworn she was a dark elf. This, then, was the trolls' companion, the weaver that could not use her own magic. Sleipnir did not shy from her but allowed her to continue stroking his velvety nose. He regarded Loki over her shoulder with a knowing warmth in his eyes. His back was free of saddle, and he had all the appearance of having had a good rubdown and a carrot or two after the adventures of the day before. The girl had taken much care of the horse before resting herself; no wonder she had not stirred when he had moved her to the hammock.

Loki stole back, quiet as a god can be, to find Magnus waiting for him in front of the makeshift tent. They greeted each other softly and watched the growing light with a comfortable silence between them. He could still hear Tickseed's song and Erik's snoring, and he could almost smell the morning as the moon and the sun caught a fleeting glimpse of each other from either end of the canyon.

One of the infants whimpered, which stirred the other two to outdo him with louder and louder cries. Kolla stirred within, and the sounds of the boat switched to a new song as the day began.

"My Lord," Magnus said, "When we are all awake, we shall have a naming for my sons." The troll pursed his lips and then spoke again, a note of shyness creeping into his deep rolling voice. "I would be most honored if you and your companions would be part of it. And then, after, we can travel down the river, and resume our search for a home, together."

Loki inhaled the crisp dawn air and enjoyed the touch of a fresh breeze against his cheek. All was peaceful here. No Odin, no Chitauri, no threatening Other lingered over the horizon. No Thor, either, but he was unsure if he relished the thought or pitied it. There was nothing here but the river and the grass, the rocks and the sky, and a handful of the most harmless creatures he had ever encountered (except, perhaps, the bees). He still needed time and space to think and to plan, and this little gem of a land promised him a great deal of both.

"We will search together, Magnus, son of Fargrim. We have much to discuss, you and I."

The rest of the company soon stirred to life. A hung-over mortal toddled over the gangplank towards the privacy of the trees. An eight-legged horse soon followed him for a morning run upon the grass. A remarkably recovered Kolla, shorter in stature and broader of shoulder than her husband, emerged from the tent with a squalling pebble on each hip and one in a sling in front of her. Her skin was a lovely midnight charcoal color stippled with white and rose quartz and veins of copper. He was certain she was beautiful to Magnus' eyes, but even so, she was pleasant to look upon. Loki had forgotten just how resilient rock trolls were. She was walking scant hours after a difficult delivery. She would probably be hauling lumber before sundown, at this rate.

A mumbling elf with a drop spindle in her hand perched on one of the many crates and spun thread from a pile of combed wool. A blanket-wrapped lady ducked into the tent, clothes in hand, and resurfaced, dressed a twinkling later. Loki pointed at her with a twist in his lips. The hood of her tunic hung down in front of her. She jumped in surprise and plunged into the tent once more to right it. She still showed no signs that the marks on her back pained her. If he had not seen it, Loki would never have guessed it was there.

After much abstract busy-ness and turning about in drowsy circles, the small tribe made its way to the green hill that overlooked the boat and the inlet in which it rested. Sleipnir waited behind Loki and nibbled thoughtfully on some grass. Erik and the girl stood with Loki between them. Tickseed hovered on the other side of the girl, who held the elderly elf's hand in her own to keep her steady. One of the bees buzzed about them and landed on the girl's shoulder. She absently scratched its back with her free hand.

"What do I do?" Erik whispered to Loki. "I've never been to a troll party before."

"They are less formal than the ones in Asgard," Loki whispered back. "Just listen and nod."

They fell silent as Kolla cleared her throat. It sounded like a tumbler polishing a diamond.

"Beloved Frigga," she called out to the sky, "I give you thanks for sending your son, Loki, to us in our hour of need. Thanks to him and his gallant companions, our sons live, and the House of Magnus, son of Fargrim, will grow. I, Kolla, Daughter of Farbjorn, ask you to bless my sons as Magnus names them."

"I've never been called gallant before," Erik whispered.

"Peace," answered Loki.

Ignoring them, Kolla handed the child on her left hip to Magnus. The troll lifted him up for all to see, a tiny fellow in his father's massive hands. Loki had only seen them as wailing lumps of rock the night before, but in full daylight, he was able to get a good look. This one was a tawny brown rather than the gray he had expected, and he was freckled with mica that sparkled with flashes of gold and garnet in the morning sun.

"Let the realms know, a troll walks among them, a troll that we name Farbjorn, son of Magnus, son of Fargrim. Farbjorn, the traveling bear, I call you, in honor of the father of Kolla."

Loki watched Magnus hold his son close. Fatherly pride beamed from the troll, and for a moment Loki thought the big rock would weep. Finally, he held the child out to Loki and bowed.

"My King? Would you do me the honor?"

Loki nodded and took the child into his arms. Much of the future danced on the edge of this moment; he would have these little ones know that he had always been there with them. He dwell in their earliest memories. He was not surprised that the child was dense and heavy for his size. He was a rock, after all. Still, he was not too heavy for a god to hold. In all seriousness, Loki turned the child to look him in the eyes and said, "Farbjorn, I name you."

Magnus clapped his hands with a joy that echoed over the valley as Loki handed the child off to Erik, who nearly collapsed under his new burden.

"Put your legs into it, man," Loki whispered to the mortal as he staggered beneath Farbjorn's bulk. The child no longer seemed so tiny.

Magnus had another child in hand by now. This one was brown as a beaver, with copper and terra cotta streaks from the top of his head to the bottoms of wiggling toes. A star-shaped birthmark of rose quartz shone on his left arm.

"Let the realms know, a troll walks among them, a troll that we name Faraldr, son of Magnus, son of Fargrim. Faraldr, the traveling ruler, I call you, in honor of the king who travels with us."

He once again handed the child to Loki. He had to blink back a bit of morning mist in his eye at that last statement, and he waited a heartbeat before he continued his part. "Faraldr, I name you."

He skipped Erik this time, who was still trembling under Farbjorn's wriggling. Loki turned to the girl, who quickly reformed herself as a grinning Einar and even managed to reshape her tunic at the same time to fit. She settled Faraldr on one hip, then with a sweep of an Asgardian-length arm relieved Erik of his burden. The poor fellow fell to his knees after that, then he finally plopped down on the dew-moist grass. Loki shrugged it off and let him be. Mortals.

Magnus held up the last child with just as much adoration as he had the first. Unlike the other two, he was a charcoal gray like his mother, shot through with veins of copper that glimmered in the growing light of the day. He had a streak of white quartz mottled with garnet just above his left eye and a mole of cinnabar on his right cheek.

"Let the realms know, a troll walks among them, a troll that we name Fargrim, son of Magnus, son of Fargrim. Fargrim, the traveling mask, I call you, in honor of my father."

Loki took the child, who burbled with delight. He wrapped his fingers, which had already captured the warmth of the day, around one of Loki's own and would not let it go. They were all astonishingly mobile for newborns, but trolls had to mature quickly. Otherwise, life for them would be even shorter and more brutal than it already was.

"Fargrim, I name you," he said.

The rest of them closed in around him in a circle. Fargrim, Faraldr, and Farbjorn reminded him of another trio that he had once known. But this little clutch would serve him much better as friends than the last ones had. He would make sure of it.

"The Pebbles Three!" Loki exclaimed.

Magnus roared with delight. "The Pebbles Three they shall be, m'Lord," he said as he gathered his little ones back into his sizeable arms. Prying Fargrim's hand from Loki's fingers took some work, for as they loosed the one tiny hand, the other took hold of a lock of raven hair and held fast. After much tickling and coaxing, Kolla pulled away her little "Grimmie". His arms felt a bit empty afterwards, but he told himself that it was just relief that the weight was gone.

"And there is one other," Loki said as he helped Erik to stand once more. He reached out for the girl's hand - for girl she was again - and pulled her to him. "Someone else is in need of a name."

Her eyes widened in astonishment at him, but she did not protest. She clasped her hands in front of her with a tilt of her head, which he took as a signal to continue.

"Let the realms know, a ... a... " He was not sure what to call her, and naming was a serious business. Gods and kings had the privilege of defining things, so he made do. "Let the realms know that a very powerful person walks among them, a person that we name Ellisif, of the House of Loki. Ellisif, I call you, in honor of the mother of Erik Selvig."

"Ellisif," Kolla repeated as she pulled the girl into a crushing embrace. "Oh, it's lovely! Ellisif we shall call you, then."

Ellisif pointed to herself, still with a questioning look in her eyes, as if she still expected people to call her by the name she had worn all this time.

"You do like it, yes?" Loki asked as the group meandered back in the direction of the boat. "'Einar' was just a name for one of your many faces. This one can be your name, your name for your true self."

She nodded so vigorously that he thought her head would pop off.

"Can you say it? Can you say your name?"

She shook her head with a wistful smile as she held up her hand between them, palm and her first three fingers pointed down to the ground. The gesture resembled the rune Ehwaz, the first letter of her new name. She skipped away, chasing the bee. She pointed to herself and then made the Ehwaz gesture again. Perhaps she was singing it to herself as she zigzagged down the hill.

Sleipnir walked by his side, and they lagged behind the others on the way back. He could hear Magnus asking Erik, with a meekness that did not match his bulk, if he had any books with him.

"I am partial to poetry," the troll explained, "especially the works of Unnarr the Unlucky. I have memorized them all. They are in the oral tradition, as he never had the chance to write them down."

"Why not?"

"He was called Unlucky for a reason."

They continued in that vein, with Erik encouraging the fellow to write his own book on Unnarr. The question reminded Loki that he had some planning of his own to do. Loki reviewed his assets and caught himself counting them on his fingers: a mortal scholar, quite learned but with a only a few years left in him; Ellisif, powerful yet naive and in need of guidance; an elderly elf that could weave wonders out of nothing but needed watching in case she wandered off; a husky and well-educated rock troll, very handy in any situation; a new mother that could brew mead so powerful that it could blast the boots off a god; three troll infants with a high adorability factor there that could prove useful, somehow; a hive of sentient bees; and Sleipnir, who was in a category all his own. Having the swiftest horse in the universe could never hurt, not to mention that having custody of him irritated all the right people. And, lest he forget it, he had access to a rather nice sailing vessel. He looked forward to their journey. He had been away from the water for far too long over the past few years.

They boarded the boat and sat down to a breakfast of bread, cheese, and honey. Loki supplemented the meal with the contents of Ellisif's saddlebags. It would not last beyond the next day, at any rate, and Kolla was grateful for the extra victuals. They discussed what would happen next, and he found the trolls looking to him for guidance. By the end of the meal, they had decided to continue with Magnus' original plan of exploring the river, which they - being in a naming mood - named the Friggavatn, much to Kolla's delight.

They clambered over the deck for an hour, securing the hive and the horse and getting the whole of it shipshape and "in Bristol fashion", as Erik termed it. Loki reviewed what little luggage he had. He had almost forgotten the tesseract, wrapped up in a saddle blanket and stowed with Sleipnir's tack until he could find a more secure location. As long as he had Ellisif, he would not have to use it, thus avoiding attracting unwanted attention from certain quarters. But the cube was not completely useless. If he had it, then Odin did not. Odin still had the Bifrost, but he would have to track him first, and Loki had woven a bit of magic into his everyday glamour that had concealed him from Heimdall's gaze for quite some time.

The only other treasure he had was the bag of golden apples, precious and magical and reserved for... a wet crunching sound disrupted the stream of his thoughts, and he turned to the source of the sound.

"Ugh," Erik grunted between bites. He scratched at the scraggly roots of a salt-colored beard on his chin. "I may need another nap. I feel like death warmed over. Twice."

Loki paused, mid-breath, and fluttered his eyes until they shut tight. He pinched the bridge of his nose and choked down a shriek. Normally he would have reminded the man of his place, but now Loki simply felt a mild irritation as he mentally revised his list of assets.

"Oh, I would not worry about that," he said once he had reined in his agitation. Loki pointed at the fruit. "Not for another century or two, at least, if you manage to keep your head about you."

Erik looked down at the apple and licked the corner of his mouth. His lips worked up and down like a puzzled fish while he worked out exactly what Loki meant. "You mean-"

"Yes, Erik, you have just nibbled your way into a longer life. Don't get the idea that you are immortal, though," Loki said. Despite the after-effects of mead, the man had dropped a dozen years (by mortal reckoning) since breakfast; gold suddenly outshone the silver in his hair in the bright morning sun, and some of the deeper lines around his mouth and eyes had fled the flavor of the fruit. The sight jarred him a little, as it reminded Loki of Odin's newly rediscovered youth. Turning back the clock for others was becoming a bad habit. If this continued, Thor would be in swaddling clothes if he did not pay attention. Loki snorted once at the thought, but then his eyebrow twitched as an idea galloped across his brain. He extended his hand to Selvig. "Give the rest to me, my friend. I will keep the seeds. They will prove useful in the future."

"Oh," Selvig said. He stood there for a moment, thinking, and the impact of Loki's words finally hit him. "OH! Good grief."

"Give it to me, Erik. Many more bites, and I won't be able to call you 'mortal' anymore."

"You don't think I'm ready for immortality? Is that it? Don't like to share?" he asked as he slowly passed the remains of the fruit over to Loki.

Loki pinched the fruit between two of his long tapered fingers, avoiding the nibbled-upon edges. He turned it in the sun and studied it for a moment. "Let us just say, I am not sure that immortality is ready for _you_."

Magnus' laughter at their banter echoed across the water. His mirth was deep and rolling, like that of a giant wheel tumbling down a hillside, without the slightest trace of malice in it.

"Oh, my dear King," he chuckled as he untied the last rope holding them to shore, "he may be the Court Astronomer, but I do not think you will require a Fool anytime soon, all the same. Hold fast, my friends. We are off."

With that, Magnus plunged a massive oar into the water. Using it and the rudder, he aided the weak current of the stream in pushing them out into the main channel of the river. He maneuvered the boat with a practiced hand into the deepest part of the water, away from the sharp rocks by the shore. The swift current caught them, and off they went, watched by a rather surprised-looking badger that hunched over his breakfast on the muddy beach. They left the sail furled to give them time to study the landscape as they passed by. A warm, sweet breeze swept its invisible fingers through Loki's hair, and he felt the wild joy of a free man tugging at the corners of his mouth as they skimmed downstream.

The river and the canyon defined each other. Their margins tugged each other this way and that, so that together they meandered slowly like a sun-drunk serpent. Over time, the swift current had cut into the rock, widening its track and stretching its liquid self into a wider body. While the water did its work, the cliffs dropped boulders into the banks and nudged the river back into its older bed.

Ripples on the water revealed the footprints of the breeze, and the stillness in the wind-shadows looked cool and inviting. Where the cliffs had left room on the riverbank, tall reaches of pine and cedar lined their path and cooled them with their shade. Their roots slithered around the sharp rocks that poked out of the mud like lichen-sheltered bones, and long-legged herons roosted on their gnarled wooden fingers. Loki could smell the needles of the evergreens as the boat drifted close to shore. Where the cliffs receded into the distance to either side, they could see stands of maple, oak, ash, and many other trees that defied recognition. The forests rode the waves of gentle hills, and he could hear the cry of an unseen bird of prey echoing through the canyon and between the tops of the knolls.

The rolling shades of green called out to Loki. He felt a strange craving to pull off his boots and run barefoot through it, and once or twice he almost asked Magnus to pull in to shore so that he could. He had not felt such a longing in centuries.

When the sound of the water faded, he could hear the soft plop of turtles diving under the cool surface of the water from their sunny perches and the sharp splash of a fish leaping out of the water to grab a moment in the sunlight. Over the course of the day, they passed streams that fed the river from waterfalls springing from clefts in the rock, some of them tucked away into the high cliff face. Water danced from stone to stone as it journeyed down the rocky ladder to the depths of the river.

Every once in a while, the raucous snores of Erik - who had returned to his hammock - broke in, until he turned over and settled back into a deep slumber. Loki could hear the lusty howls of the newborns down below, which quieted down when Kolla sang a lullaby. It was a tender song, and he caught the name of his mother woven into it here and there. Kolla was wasting no time in passing on her beliefs. Sleipnir's nose was deep into a nosebag of oats that Magnus had given him, and he swatted away the rather large flies with his own rather impressive tail. He neighed an occasional comment on the scenery (especially on the estimated quality of the grazing to be had) but otherwise seemed rather content.

The canyon continued in front of them, drawn out into the distance as far as the eye could see. The walls dipped and curved along the track of the river, and every time they rounded a bend, Loki could see that the canyon merely stretched out ahead of them. He wandered aft, where Magnus handled the tiller with an easy grace that Loki had not expected from a troll.

"Magnus," Loki asked, "how long have you been touring this river? When did you arrive here?"

"Only a handful of days, m'Lord. Most of that time was in the inlet. The scenery changes but little."

"In all that time, have you seen any break in the cliff walls?"

"Except for the waterfalls? No, m'Lord. The canyon seems endless, does it not? The sun tracks along it, so the days are not cut short by the cliffs." He pointed at Loki's face. "May I suggest you and the Astronomer and Ellisif cover your heads? My stone skin is not sensitive to the sun, but you three may redden here on deck. Tickseed discovered that quickly the first day. She stays belowdecks in the heat of the afternoon."

"My thanks, Magnus. We will."

As Loki made his way back to the prow, he took a closer look at the details of the boat. With all the excitement - and the mead - of the night before, he had not taken the time to examine their temporary abode. Every nook and cranny bore some sort of carving, a delicate jungle of knot work that slithered from bow to stern, with a menagerie of dragons, griffins, and serpents woven in. He followed one line with the tip of his finger as he walked along the deck, and it wound in and out of other lines all the way to the prow. With every turn, the line reminded him of something, the same way Ellisif reminded him of something, but he could not remember exactly what it was. At the bow, the line grew up and out of the gunwale in a branch that spiraled upon itself, with a dragon's head roaring at its center.

He felt a tugging upon his sleeve. Ellisif was pulling on it and signaling that she had a question for him. She held a comb from Valhalla-knew-where out to him. He agreed, mostly out of a slight sense of ennui and the need to do something with his hands. She was truly helpless when it came to caring for her base form, having worn Einar's face for so long. He sat her down in the wind shadow behind a crate and attacked her mane with the comb. Normally a girl-child's mother would have taught her to do such things. However, if his guess was correct, Ellisif had had no mother to teach her, and that lack left a lot of room in which he himself could work. He decided on a single braid down her back. His long clever fingers imitated the one that Frigga had favored in his nursery days. A memory pinched the back of his mind, one of a pre-adolescent Thor asking Loki to braid a bit of hair behind his ear. Thor had tried to reciprocate, but Loki's fine raven hair had been so soft and slick that it slipped out of any braid almost as soon as it was done. He was almost lost in those thoughts as he neared the tips of Ellisif's hair. That had been before Odin had pulled the slightly older Thor out of the nursery and started his warrior training in earnest, leaving little time for such things. That act was a hairline fracture between the boys, and over the centuries it had yawned into the abyss it was now. They had been so close, once. But that was also when Frigga had started teaching him magic that Thor did not learn. She taught him how to move swiftly, silently, with grace and skill. Much later she schooled him in how to dance that way with a blade or a trick of the eye.

"There, child," he said as he secured the braid with a ribbon borrowed from Tickseed. He locked those memories, so sharply pleasant, away as he released her. He led her back to the bench in the bow and was relieved that her cloud of hair was under control at last.

"I think it is time for your story, Ellisif," he said. "From whence do you come, little one? Can you show me?"

Her face was relaxed and happy, as if she had enjoyed the dressing of her hair. She unfolded her hands in front of her like two small pale ferns, and between her fingers a soft blue light sparked into life. From that light blossomed a set of images, images like the ones she had drawn the night before. They sparkled in the bright sunlight. They floated like gems between her fingers: a cube that glowed with lightning's indigo fire, a cloud of blood-red droplets, a metallic orb that resembled the pitted surface of a moon, and three gems that burned with a life-giving green, a sun-burnt orange, and a golden yellow.

Tickseed, who had been watching them with hooded eyes, ceased her constant spinning and said, without a trace of mutter, "She is a stone child." Then she mumbled and spun the spindle once more.

"Stone child." Somehow, he knew she did not mean she was like the rocky infants in the tent. He scoured the knowledge he had gained from the Other, though it gave him a headache to do so. The stones, the Convergence, and the emerging pathways between the realms all pointed in one direction. A frisson rippled down his spine and left him cold. No wonder there was something familiar about her.

"You are a child of the gems, aren't you?" he asked at last. "They did it again, during the Convergence?"

Kolla sat down opposite them, holding Faraldr in her arms. "M'Lord? What says she?"

Ellisif nodded, holding the illusion between her small palms.

Loki continued, "She says that she is a creation of a collection of powerful entities. We see them as stones, as artifacts. They are the remnants of an ancient being that destroyed itself out of loneliness. They each bear a portion of that being's power."

Kolla clutched the child to her until it squalled. She loosened her grip, but the fear and wonder in her eyes remained. "I have heard of them. I thought they were just a myth!"

"They are real, dear lady," he replied with a barely suppressed shudder. "Far too real. They are said to fashion a sentient representative, from time to time, for reasons they keep to themselves. We had quite a bit of power flying about during the Convergence. They must have used that to bring you to life."

Ellisif gave him a long, slow nod.

"So, while Thor fought Malekith, you were, shall we say, in progress?"

Another nod.

He had learned the most obscure of facts about the gems in his time with the Other, and the tuition had been expensive, indeed, and a steeper price than he wished to recall. But the fact that occurred to him was almost as harsh as the way he had learned it, and he shoved that nasty little question aside. His other question was harsh enough, even though he was certain he already knew the answer.

"And your scar?"

She turned away, the illusion dissolving as her body passed through it.

"Scar?" Kolla asked. "Has someone hurt you, dear?"

"It is an old one," Loki said. "If you will excuse us."

He took Ellisif by the hand and led her aft, past a musing Magnus and a snoring Erik, to Sleipnir's berth. He was sure the horse would keep a secret. Ellisif's face was a twist of panic. He held her by the shoulders, firmly but gently, until her breathing slowed.

"It is all right, little one," he said. "I only caught a glimpse of it. But I believe I should know, if we are to be companions. Kolla did ask the right question. Did someone hurt you?"

Her eyes darted left and right, as if unsure of the answer. She wiggled her shoulders free of his grasp and held up her hands again to show him a new illusion. He saw a scene in miniature, as if someone had painted a battle in the air between her fingers. This battle, though, as far too familiar to him. He saw himself and Thor, frozen in time on the desolate plain of Svartalfheim. Thor's mortal Jane Foster was there, and so was Malekith and his crew. A thread of lightning sprouted from Mjolnir and reached for the cloud of Aether hovering over them all.

Loki closed his eyes so he could not see that placid face and just stood there, listening to his heartbeat rolling in his head like thunder. It was one of the few times in his life that he detested being right. They had done it to her. They had not known. They had had no way of knowing, that somewhere else in the universe this little one, a little one meant to protect _him_ for some unknown reason, was coming into being. They could not know that they were interrupting that process with their failed attempt to destroy the Aether. But it had been even worse than useless, worse than futile. He had told Thor that it would not work. He had hated being right about that, too.

No wonder Ellisif had such an unfinished air about her. She _was_ unfinished. What else had that fruitless act cost this little one? What useful gifts, what stature, and what beauty might she have possessed if she had been left to blossom fully? _What had Thor done?_

He peeled his eyes open and studied her. She averted his gaze and turned to pet Sleipnir, who nickered at her softly.

"Does it hurt?" he asked. "Do you suffer?"

She shrugged one shoulder without looking at him. He could not tell if that meant it did not hurt, or that it did hurt but the pain did not matter. She did give him the definite sense that the conversation was over.

"Very well," he said. "That is all, Ellisif. For now."

He left her to the Sleipnir, who seemed to be as good a comforter as any, and walked forward. He waved off Kolla's questions as best he could and asked her to leave the girl in peace. A numbness sprouted behind his eyes, and he resumed his perch behind the dragon's-head prow, trying not to think for a few minutes.

Selvig rolled out of his hammock and sat on the bench across from Loki. He inhaled the fresh air like a parched man quenching his thirst in a cold lake. He stretched, yawned, and scratched his chest.

"You know," he said, "when I first woke up, I fully expected to be back at the hospital. Thought this was all a crazy dream. Heh. Either that, or they'd given me the really good meds this time." He yawned again. "I may be crazier than ever, between the rock trolls, the eight-legged horse, and the really big bees, but this beats the hell out of the looney bin." He paused and dropped his arms by his sides, drooping for a moment. "I...I don't have to go back, do I?"

Loki chuckled, grateful for the distraction. The mortal might not be in mad in a god's eye, but there was definitely something rolling around in that head of his. "You do not have to do anything. You are a free spirit, Erik Selvig. I am certain that if you ask Ellisif nicely, she will take you wherever you wish to go. I get the feeling that she wants to protect you, not hold you prisoner. But if you returned? Well, at this rate, you would be there for some time, considering the amount of immortality you just imbibed." He smiled at his own joke, but beneath his words Loki felt a bit of worry nibble away at his throat. He leaned closer and said softly, "The Astronomer bit was for their benefit, Selvig, but I would not mind if it were true. You are my favorite Midgardian, to be frank, and I do think we could benefit each other. We share much knowledge, including an acquaintance with a certain god of thunder. The trolls like you. Stay with us."

"Stay? Stay where? On the boat? Won't we run out of supplies soon, with all of us to feed?"

Loki studied the shoreline without answering, lost in his thoughts. He had been staring at the trees and the rocks the whole day, and everything was starting to look the same. That cedar, that rock beneath it with the peculiar white blaze, and yet another badger watching them go by with a look of mild surprise on his furry visage, looking much like the same surprised badger he had seen that morning -

"Magnus," Loki called out. He pointed to the rolling and stand of woods and inlet creek that they had just passed. "Magnus, does this place look familiar to you at all?"

Magnus' eyes followed Loki's finger as he looked at the shoreline. "Why, yes, my Lord! That creek! That tree! That looks like where we stayed last night."

"I agree. Can we turn round and see?"

"Aye, we can," he said.

A few moments later, Magnus and Loki scrambled over the re-extended gangplank and examined the ground around its end.

"My Lord," said Magnus, "here are my footprints in the mud. Unless there are other trolls here - and I have not seen any - I would say that we have come full circle."

"This is a peculiar river, indeed. We are going in circles inside this canyon. There are no paths out. Even this creek falls down the cliffs, there in the distance. I have never seen anything quite like this." He shouted in the direction of the boat through his hands. "Oh, Court Astronomer!"

"What?" barked Erik.

"Selvig! Focus!" Loki snapped his fingers. "You are our scholar. Any ideas on where we might be? Know you of any circular canyons on Midgard?"

Erik replied, "Not like this one. If I can manage to stay sober tonight, I might have a look at the stars and have a guess. At least eliminate a few things."

"My friends," Loki declared, "I believe we may be somewhere outside the Nine Realms. There are many worlds, strange and stranger still, outside of them." He crossed the gangplank once more and said to Kolla as he walked aft, "Like to stretch your legs?"

A short while later, the group that had tramped up the hill that morning marched up it yet again. The horse would stop a moment, graze, then catch up quickly on his swift legs. Two scout bees flew above them and circled over Ellisif, who was still pale and avoiding Loki's gaze. She was arm in arm with Tickseed, who babbled excitedly over the patches of herbs that they passed. Magnus and Kolla carried Faraldr and Farbjorn. Loki, with a makeshift sling, carried Fargrim, who giggled as he bounced along with Loki's long strides.

"Let us have a look around, shall we, Grimmie?" Loki asked.

They passed the margin of the forest and continued up into the meadow where they had first arrived. Loki could see the confused hoof prints that could only be Sleipnir's. They continued up and up and gentle slope, until they reached the base of one of the cliffs that bordered the canyon.

The place was empty. They had not passed a single village or building, not even a hen house, the entire day. The land was bright and green and ripe for the taking.

"I believe I know where we are," Erik said. His voice startled Loki out of his reverie.

"You do?"

"I share some of your database, remember? Doesn't this place strike you as a bit idyllic and impossibly empty? If all this is related to the stones..."

"Yes, I think you are on to something, there, Selvig. The green one. The soul gem. It was said to contain a kingdom within it, among other properties. An _idyllic_ kingdom. Could that be this place?"

"The physics of it is a bit wonky, but somehow with all that knowledge you stuffed into my head, I am sure I will figure it out."

"I have no doubt you will. In the meantime, I will ask Ellisif. She should know, since she brought us here." He glanced back at her face, and she yet again found a reason to look somewhere else. She was unfinished, true, but powerful (and grumpy) nonetheless. "Perhaps later."

"My Lord," Magnus said. "We have had a great day for names. We should name this place. It is so beautiful, quite beyond my words. I wonder what Unnarr would say now?"

"You should write your own poem for it, Magnus, and use your own luck," Loki replied. "As for its name..."

It was indeed a land that begged for the eye of a poet. Not all poets were a curse, like that Snorri. He snickered for a moment and realized that he was not done tweaking people for the day.

"It is indeed poetic, my rocky friend," Loki said at last. "Dare I say, eddic, even. It is time we reclaimed some history for ourselves." He looked deep into that blue, blue sky and shouted, "I name you Eddaheim! The land of the poets!"

"An edda is actually a specific poem, but what the hell," Erik said as craned his neck up to stare at the cliffs. "Maybe we should paint a sign," he chuckled.

Loki sidled up to the cliff and pushed his back into it. He enjoyed the solid feel of it against him, as if the land itself were embracing him. He closed his eyes and let his mind soar free, forming an image of many chambers of wood and stone. He breathed in the scent of grass and cedar and sunshine and let it soak into his brain. He could almost hear the startled glances of the people - his people, now - as they watched him grow as still as the stone now supporting him. Plans and possibilities germinated in his mind; this land shimmered with potential so bright that it made him shiver.

The buzzing of the bees that had followed them brought to mind the sweet flow of honey and mead, and that prickled the remembrance of the apple seeds he had taken from Erik earlier, those precious golden seeds... Before him lay a land to tame, a people to rule, a kingdom to build from the ground up in his own name, a House of his own, the House of Loki ... it was all spread before him, a banquet in the making... like a ripe golden apple, trembling in the wind, ready to be taken... It was small, yes, but even the mightiest of Idunn's golden trees had sprouted from a single seed. And the Universe had started as a point far smaller than that.

Surely, there were others that were lost during the shifting of the Convergence, wandering in a realm that was not theirs. Surely, there were those fleeing from the troubles of other lands, searching for a home and a king. Or a god.

Eddaheim called out to him like a mother calling her child home.

The rock wall next to him grew warmer, and he knew that Ellisif had joined him there, her melancholy shed like an old coat in the heat of summer. That soft glow of power that had lingered on the edges of his perception all day brightened, and he allowed himself a half-smile. She had still spoken not a word, and she had not even touched him; but somehow he still knew what she was trying to say: she stood with him. What gifts he now had! The power of the Stones lived within Ellisif. She did not have to be finished to be potent. He possessed both the tesseract and the gem in which they now stood. He had the sturdy hands of the trolls and Selvig's learning. He had his own deep and ancient knowledge of magic and kingcraft. Here he could use that hard-won tuition, and here he would be safe from those who had taught him. He would be safe until he was ready.

He could see no limit to the sky.

He would, at last, claim his birthright.

Opening his eyes, he stepped off the spot, the first step in his new journey. He paced forward with long, measured strides and counted under his breath. Ellisif watched his march with knowing eyes while the rest simply gawked at him. Sleipnir ignored him in favor of a particularly tasty patch of grass.

Selvig finally broke the silence. "What the hell are you doing now?"

Without stopping, Loki replied, "If Eddaheim is to be the home of the poets, then then poets need a home." He pointed at the ground as he rounded an imaginary corner and winked at Erik. "This will be your observation tower, if you wish, O Court Astronomer, where you'll never have to wear trousers again! We'll have a special room just for a giant loom, as big as Tickseed wants. And the finest brewery we can imagine for Kolla. A nursery for The Pebbles Three!" He pointed back at the cliff. "The library will be over there, Magnus, and it will overflow with books."

Sleipnir looked up from his meal and neighed a question at him.

"Yes, yes, of course, Sleipnir, do not worry. You shall have the most magnificent stable in all of Yggdrasil! And carrots!"

Magnus looked down at his feet, where his three sons already crawled about and tugged on his leggings, then looked back up at Kolla and Tickseed with shining eyes. "A home? With books?"

Kolla exclaimed "Truly? For all of us, m'Lord?"

Loki called over his shoulder without looking back as he continued his pacing.

"For all of us."

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Welcome to all my readers from around the world. I've been watching the story statistics since I posted the first chapter, and I've been tickled to see readers from the U.S., the U.K., Germany, India, Australia, Sweden, Denmark, the Maldives, the Netherlands, Spain, Hungary, the Russian Federation, Finland, Belgium, Israel, Portugal, Argentina, and Colombia. Hello, everybody!

I had so much fun writing this chapter. Why? Troll babies. That's why.

I apologize for taking so long in posting it.

The Infinity Stones - I am certain that the tesseract represents the space & time stone and the aether represents the power stone. I strongly suspect that the gem in Loki's staff is the Mind stone, but I can't be sure just yet. However, I have no idea what the orb in "Guardians of the Galaxy" represents at this point. We will all have to watch GotG to see. I'm taking a gamble here and betting that it is NOT the soul gem. If it is, then my story wanders even more out of canon that it already is, which in case this will be more AU than I had planned. If so, I'll live with it.

Friggavatn - The "-vatn" suffix is based on an Old Norse term for "waterway". In some sources, the meaning is just listed as "lake", and in others I saw "waterway", so I may have fudged this one a little bit.

Runes - I use the Elder Futhark for any rune references. I don't know if they use that in Asgard, but that's what I picked.

Unnarr the Unlucky - just a bit of whimsy on my part. I do believe that troll poetry is somewhat better than Vogon poetry.


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